


The Moment

by Goddess of Oceans (Griffamene)



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Character Study, F/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Sexy Times, Shrios, Tragedy/Comedy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-20
Updated: 2016-05-22
Packaged: 2018-06-09 15:40:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 47,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6913150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Griffamene/pseuds/Goddess%20of%20Oceans
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An attempt to fill the void of missing moments in Shepard and Thane's romance - the memories they could have built together in the spaces between the missions, the posthumous remembrances due, yet not paid.   </p><p>"This moment, right now -- it’s all I have."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Siha

**Author's Note:**

> With special thanks to Jalice for her encouragement and outstanding beta reading, without which this work would not exist.

I slip into the memory often -- the scintillating electric glow of the Tantalus drive core outside the observation window melting into indistinct smudges as my sight travels inward.

_ Tension rises in the consuming darkness. Muscles taut like coiled serpents. The disabled vessel is cavernous, grotesque. It drifts through the void of space. No sound in the airless vacuum. Impending danger settles in my chest. We are not alone. _

_ A small figure holds point. Clad in black. Heavily armoured, Human Systems Alliance military-issue. A stripe of bright red framed in white runs up her right arm. Emblazoned on the right breast, characters in Earth English: N7. Straight, slender back nearly obscured by weapons.  _

Commander Shepard. I possess no adequate words to describe this soul to whom I have bound my path. I have only clumsy analogues, fumbling impressions, strained metaphors. Language, it would seem, has failed me. 

_ On her left flank, a human landscape of images inked in flesh. Tattoos twisted through angry scars, welts, burns. Sinewy muscle moves beneath them, undisciplined, eager. Brown eyes traitorously gentle above full lips, petulant behind a transparent oxygen mask.  _

Jack. The Cerberus research cell that had kidnapped her in infancy and confined her to the Teltin facility on Pragia had called her ‘Subject Zero.’ I feel an odd kinship with this woman who, like me, was taken from her family while young, trained to fight and kill at the behest of others. Her immense biotic potential unmatched in any living human, her captors had groomed her to be the ultimate biotic soldier. Instead, she had escaped, destroying the facility that held her, and laying subsequent waste to everything and everyone in her path. 

Until she met Shepard. 

_ I slip along in shadows, watching, eyes in constant motion.  _

_ An ovoid stasis pod juts from the wall. Rounding the corner, Jack skids. “Shit!” Nearly collides with the pod. Cluttered along the passage, more pods. Empty, and open.  _

_ “Same containers as the ones we found on Horizon, Shepard.” A dark expression on Jack’s face.  _

I was not present on Horizon, but I often listen to the murmurings of the crew as they linger in the mess hall. A remote human settlement, Horizon had been attacked by a reclusive species of aliens known only as the Collectors. After every human inhabitant had been paralyzed by swarms of winged, birdlike seeker-probes, the Collectors moved in, sealing the colonists inside stasis pods and carrying them off. Shepard and her squad arrived mid-attack, too late to prevent the first wave of colonists from being taken. 

_ “It must have been horrible.” My stomach twists. “Trapped in these pods. Completely at the mercy of the Collectors.”  _

_ An armour-clad arm shoots outward. A sharp, slashing signal we all know well -- ‘cut the chatter.’ I fall silent. She clambers from pod to pod. Looking for signs, for surviving colonists. She finds nothing. _

_ “Move out.”  _

_ Corridors wind on and on. Their appearance haphazard. Here, as if dug from clay by burrowing insects; there, luminous, intricate designs wrought of polished, smooth metal.  _

I can still feel the claustrophobia, how the walls had closed in around us as we delved further into the derelict. 

_ A pile of broken bodies. Tossed aside, carelessly as a child’s toys. Humans.  _

_ Her eyes, dark and dangerous as the ocean, close momentarily behind clear, polished plasteel.  _

_ “These poor souls.” The words slip from my mouth, unbidden. She circles, restless, omni-tool extended. Searching for some sign of life among the dead.  _

_ Uncharacteristically still, Jack’s face is drawn, subdued. “Oh fuck me…” _

_ A grim realization dawns. “Test subjects, discarded at the end of the experiment,” my voice cracks.  _

_ Shepard looks up at me. My expression stolen away by the infrared glow of my recon hood’s oculus. She cannot read the sickness in my eyes. _

_ “They didn’t deserve this…” her voice soft.  _

_ I offer a platitude I already know is insufficient. “Too few in life ever get what they deserve.”  _

_ A curt nod, her mouth a thin, hard line. Unwavering. She abandons her search, moves on. We follow.  _

_ These are  _ **_her_ ** _ people. Bloodied, dismembered, men, women...children… _

Not for the first time, I wonder how she bears it, the running toll of losses as she rushes from star system to star system, always one step behind the Collectors as they swoop in on human habitations and leave behind empty colonies, her warnings about the imminent threat falling on the deaf ears of cowardly politicians. 

_ Silence. The airless vacuum is deafening. Eerie.  _

I have overheard the crew’s hushed stories of Shepard’s time in the Alliance military. How circumstances had forced her to order a squadmate, Kaidan Alenko, to manually detonate a nuclear warhead on Virmire. Their furtive speculation that Alenko had been the commander’s lover. Their awed tales of the loss of Shepard’s first command, the Normandy SR-1, Shepard’s body torn from the cockpit and hurled into space, drifting into orbit around Alchera amidst the wreckage, a rupture in her life support pack venting the last of her oxygen into the void. 

_ We follow her, deeper.  _

And now, rebuilt by an organization of pro-human extremists she neither supports nor trusts, she wages a lonely war against an enemy none but her truly comprehends, her only allies a ragtag band of mercenaries, renegade scientists, criminals, and the holographic image of a man who oozes deceit. So much weight upon such seemingly frail human shoulders. 

Yet always those shoulders hold firm, and onward she marches, relentless. 

Shepard is nothing I expected.

_ She spots it first. A laboratory. Monstrous. Fused organics, metals. A computer terminal flanked by stasis pods. Shepard approaches, fearless. Her stern face bathed orange in the glow of her omni-tool. The console flares to life. Incomprehensible characters scroll across a screen. Shepard’s fingers dance upon her omni-tool, establishing an uplink with EDI, the Normandy’s spectral A.I.  _

_ Jack’s shaved head bows over one of the pods. “Holy shit -- there’s a Collector in this thing. They run psycho experiments on their own kind, too? Hey, Shepard, maybe the Collectors and that holographic fuck you call ‘boss’ can all sit down together, swap data over cocktails and hors d'oeuvres...”  _

_ “I suspect such a meeting would go disastrously for the Illusive Man.” My mouth twitches. A smile, nearly.   _

_ “You fucking nerd,” Jack laughs, her voice hard. Her eyes...almost affectionate.   _

_ “Shut it, both of you!” Shepard thunders. She strains, listening to the A.I.’s disembodied musings, “...only one race is known to have a genetic structure matching that of the Collectors, Shepard: the protheans.” Disbelief contorts Shepard’s face. She steps back from the terminal.  _

_ “My god,” her voice soft. Tinged with horror. “The protheans  _ **_didn’t_ ** _ vanish. They've been genetically modified...enslaved by the Reapers…” _

The protheans. An ancient space-faring species, thought to have built the mass relay system permitting inter-stellar travel throughout the Milky Way and into the reaches beyond. Wrapped in myth and mystery, the prothean empire had fallen tens of millennia ago, leaving behind ruins, artifacts, and many questions. My people’s sister-species, the hanar, worship the protheans as gods, referring to them as the Enkindlers. 

According to historical texts and legends collected across species, the prothean empire fell prey to a monstrous synthetic race known as the Reapers. Purportedly appearing every 50,000 years to violently harvest sentient organic life from our galaxy, they are fabled to leave behind only a bare handful of less-evolved species to begin the cycle over again. Most believe the Reapers to be a fairy story, useful only in frightening misbehaving children.

Shepard has actually  _ seen  _ a Reaper. Seen, fought, and orchestrated an assault to  _ kill  _ it -- but not before learning there are more on the way, eager to begin the next harvest. And no one believes her. 

No one -- save us. 

_ Outrage sharpens Shepard’s every gesture. “This is an atrocity. We have to stop it.”  _

_ “No species should have to experience this,” I turn away, feeling ill.   _

_ Shepard orders us forward. Her voice is steel.  _

The Collectors -- twisted remnants of the once-proud protheans. Even now, my mind drifts to my own people, the drell, and our hanar saviours, living together peacefully on the hanar homeworld, Kahje. I envision the Reapers transforming us with their horrible experiments; mindless, reptilian-synthetic drell soldiers spurred along by glowing, twisted hanar ghouls. Alone in the cool stillness of the life support bay, I nonetheless stifle a shudder. 

_ My right eye catches a familiar symbol. Human Systems Alliance. A military locker, riddled with bullets, scorch marks. Lodged in a pile of debris.  _

_ “Shepard!” I call to her. Pry open the damaged metal cabinet. “The Collectors must have brought this aboard at Horizon.” _

_ Jack shoulders in beside me. Rummages through the locker. She finds a shotgun, compact, brutal, just like her. She growls her approval, low in her throat, lusty. _

_ Near the back, I spot an intact weapon case. Massive. A scarred metal inscription on the container. M-98: Widow.  _

_ “A sniper rifle,” I require both hands to extract it from the locker. “Or judging from its bulk, a small cannon.”  _

_ Shepard approaches. Leans over me to read. Armoured hand rests lightly on my arm. “Nice. Thane, can you use it?”  _

_ I shake my head. “Its size would be burdensome. I...prefer a more graceful dance partner.”  _

While it is true that my heavily modified Mantis has, after years of companionship, become more an extension of my body than a separate object, I’d opted not to admit that I would likely dislocate my shoulder attempting to fire the Widow.

_ Brown eyes roll, a snicker of contempt. “Wimp.” I turn, face Jack in response. Proffer the case.  _

_ “Don’t look at me!” she backs up. Palms in the air. “I like it up close and personal.”  _

_ Her bombast is unconvincing.   _

_ Shepard considers a moment. Her eyes sparkling, mischievous. She retrieves the case from me. Catches flip open. She lifts out components. Tests their weight as she assembles the rifle. “It’s not so heavy.” Palm-slaps a spare thermal clip into the loading chamber.  _

_ Jack’s shoulders shake. Raucous laughter. “Shit, Commander, that thing weighs more than you do! The fucking recoil will send you sprawling…” _

_ “Jack’s doubts are valid, Shepard. This rifle is intended to target shuttles and aircraft. Observe the bracing tripod -- it is designed to be mounted on a vehicle.”  _

_ She stares us down. Defiant. “I can handle it.” Slings the Widow into a spare holster. _

Something long asleep stirred in me as I watched Shepard heft that enormous rifle across her back. It awakens again at the memory, sinuous, a delicious thrill in the pit of my stomach. 

_ “Move out.”  _

_ An open chamber, meters away. Looming above, I spot them.  _

_ “Look -- Shepard, on the ceiling. More containment pods. These appear to be sealed.”  _

_ “There are hundreds up there,” Jack attempts to count. “I wonder how many have people in them…” _

_ “Too many,” Shepard’s face is raised upward. Searching. _

_ Feminine, crisp tones cut in over the comm channel. EDI. “I detect no signs of life in the pods, Shepard. It is probable the victims died when the ship lost primary power.”  _

_ Shepard’s shoulders sink. Along with them, her hopes of recovering any surviving colonists from Horizon.  _

_ Instinctive, I step toward her. Wanting to… _

I’m uncertain what my body intended. To pat my grieving commander on the arm? To utter a meaningless platitude? To vainly attempt to lift away some of the enormous metaphysical weight she must carry? It hardly matters.

_ She has already moved on.  _

_ A steep ramp ahead. We ascend, pass into the ship’s central chamber. Cavernous, massive beyond comprehension. Stretching out beyond the limit of my eyesight, both directions. Walls and ceiling lined with empty, waiting pods.  _

_ Millions of them.  _

_ I come to a halt. Plant my feet, combating a wave of vertigo. “Well...I suppose we should have expected this.”  _

Should have, certainly...assuming we had been thinking with the cold machine logic of the Reapers. Otherwise, the implications of those endless clusters of pods are monstrous, unfathomable. 

_ “They couldn’t fill all those pods…” Jack’s stubbled head shakes. Disbelief. “Even if they took every colonist in the Terminus.”  _

_ “The Terminus system is only the beginning.” My fists clench. I look out over the dizzying vista. _

There is only one way the Collectors can obtain enough human bodies to fill their apparent quota. 

_ “They are going to target Earth.”  _

_ “Not if we stop them,” Shepard snarls, stubborn jaw set. Her eyes gleam furious ebony.  _

_ We follow along a raised walkway. Search for the command centre. A long march, then a clearing. Pentagonal platforms, interlocked. Polished, mirror-bright metal. A large computer terminal set in the centre. Shepard approaches. I trail on her right flank.  _

_ Jack pauses. Her face confused. “This is the bridge. The Illusive Man said the turian military wasted this ship. There should be dead Collectors everywhere…” Dark eyes flash. “Something’s very fucking wrong here…” _

_ My skin crawls. The platform deserted. The ship’s bridge empty. A flare of orange as Shepard’s arm passes across the console. EDI’s euphonious voice over the comm: “Uplink established.”  _

_ High-pitched ringing shakes me to my teeth. Deep vibrations in the metal, thrumming up my legs. Joker and EDI’s confused voices over the comm, crackling with distortions. A sharp lurch and my stomach drops. The platform beneath us soars upward. I crouch down. Plant a hand firmly on cold metal. Shepard pinwheels. Sprawls across the console. Jack staggers backward, limbs flailing. Struggles back up, face twisted with rage.  _

_ “Commander!” Joker’s voice. Frantic.  _

_ “Everyone’s all right, Joker. What just happened?” Gives her helmeted head a sharp shake. Armoured gauntlet clutches the console. She rises to her feet.  _

_ EDI responds, mellifluous, eerily calm. Normandy’s systems dark. A Collector virus embedded in the uplink. “Shepard, it was not a malfunction. This was a trap.”  _

_ My left eye catches motion. Two pentagonal platforms rise in the distance. Vague shapes move upon them.  _

_ A harsh rasp explodes from my chest, “Look out -- we’ve got company.” My lungs burn. I fill them aggressively against their protest, dragging stale oxygen from my recon hood’s breather. The Mantis rests along my right arm. Cool, reassuring. Holographic readouts flare to life. Mods activating at my touch. I spot a slightly elevated ridge. Dash into cover. Left fingers find the Shuriken at my hip, disengage the safety. _

_ Platforms draw nearer. Shapes come into sharper relief. Looming alien figures. Several massive, bowed triangular heads. Others multi-headed, misshapen. Preparing for attack.  _

_ She stands in the centre of the platform. Time stands still. Shoulders dropped, limbs loose at her sides. A composer, poised, waiting for the curtain to rise. Her head moves slowly, scanning the field. Marking every foe’s position, size, defenses, offenses. A strategy unfurling in her mind’s eye as music to a virtuoso.  _

As I have seen her in battlefields across the galaxy, and over again in my memory, every instant magnified, dilated, as suddenly treasured as the oxygen my body can yet draw from my nearly-ruined lungs. 

_ An enormous figure shudders upon the right platform. Glowing veins erupt. Light bursting like magma through cracked, blistering skin. The Collector writhes. Face and body wracked with pain.  _

_ “You cannot escape your destiny, Shepard.” Sonorous booming resonates inside our skulls,“Submit now.”  _

Harbinger. The ancient Reaper that has pursued Shepard across the galaxy had rent one of his Collector slave’s body and mind away, assuming direct control of its physical form. 

_ “Fuck you,” Shepard’s low velvet curse sends icy fingers down my spine.  _

_A blur of tattooed flesh, sweat, and raw anger flashes across the platform. Jack halts, crouching feline near the computer console._ _The metal floor rocks with a sharp impact. The approaching platform collides with ours._

_ Collector drones launch toward Jack. Assault rifles raised. Small, hard fists burst into livid blue flames. Shields flashing to absorb particle gun fire. Brown eyes burn with fury.  _

_ “I will  _ **_destroy_ ** _ you!” A roar of jubilation. Glowing fists smash into polished metal. A biotic shockwave bursts forth, tearing through the oncoming drones.  _

_ Shepard dips a shoulder downward. A heavy clatter as the Widow hits the floor. An armoured boot sends it flying beneath the computer console. She slides in behind it. Her Revenant springs to her hands. Black helmet ducks down. Silver-violet, a particle beam sears the air where her head was a moment before. She rises. Serpentine. A Collector drone to the right catches a round from her Revenant, collapses. Her every motion is seamless. Harmonic counterpoint. Her voice is in my ears.  _

_ “Thane -- assassin on the right platform! Jack, wear down the Scion and watch out for more drones.”  _

Throughout the onslaught I do not pause, do not miss a step watching Shepard with my lungs tight and my heart pounding. In my solitary reflections aboard the Normandy it is safe to permit myself such foolishness. But as I do battle my body is her vessel, her instrument. As my Mantis to my eyes and arms, I am hers. 

_ My left arm prickles hot, electric blue. Mantis cradled at my right shoulder. I spot the assassin. Triangular head, bowed behind an enormous particle rifle. Meticulous, intent, he fixes Jack in his scope. She rages across the platform, firing shotgun blasts and profanities at a twisted, lurking Scion.  _

_ Left arm whips outward. Haloed in distorted air. My warp field hurtles toward the unsuspecting assassin. I raise my scope, watch slanting rows of glowing yellow eyes blink in startled unison. The biotic charge wracks his poised form, disrupting his energy barrier. Angular face whips about. Trying to locate me. He fails.  _

_ I place the scope’s crosshairs in the center of those alien eyes. Brace hard against the kickback. Pull the trigger. Eject the thermal clip. A fluid series of movements more familiar and intuitive to me than the rise and fall of a lover’s body. His head snaps back, yellow eyes extinguished.  _

_ “Spread your matter to the sea,” I pray for the release of his tormented prothean soul. Palm slap a replacement clip into the chamber.  _

_ “Jack, on your six! Thane, give her cover!” The platform shakes, another colliding against us, depositing more drones. They descend on Jack. Her colourful form tense, shaking with adrenaline. She is right out in the open. Jumps at the alarm in Shepard’s voice. Wheels around, backing away from the drones. Teeth bared.  _

_ “Krios! Light ‘em up!!” Jack’s voice grates over the comm. Tattooed arms fly upward in a nimbus of blue. The approaching figures rise, flailing, into the air. Azure fire builds in my flesh. I send it soaring toward the floating drones. Mass effect fields collide in a burst of blue-violet, throwing the wretched airborne humanoids beyond the perilous edge of the platform. Like a child in a thunderstorm, Jack shrieks with exhilaration as the blast blows her backwards. She seizes a metal ledge to halt her slide. Leaps, triumphant, to her feet. “WHOOOoooooo! That was  _ **_awesome_ ** _ you glorious scaly fuck!”  _

_ “Amonkira be praised,” I agree. The drones’ souls depart their genetically-modified prisons. I watch through the scope. Shepard dispatches another drone, slides deep into cover. Reaches for the Widow.  _

_ “Chey’aula burn me,” I curse. Certain the monstrous rifle will be as little use to her as a  _ _ mallet to a surgeon. I swing the Mantis left. Slay two additional Collectors in quick succession before they can train their rifles on her.  _

_ Harbinger closes on her position. Steps down before the command console.  _

_ “Thane! Get his barrier down!” she roars. Plants the butt of the massive Widow between glossy black greaves. Her hands fumble with the unfamiliar ejection chamber. Frantic, my breath ragged, I summon an immense biotic field. My body trembles with the effort. Element zero stings beneath my flesh, searing white-hot. My cells singing with the urge to release, I launch the charge toward Harbinger, battering down his barrier.  _

_ Jack pauses her assault on a grotesque Scion. Fused humanoid forms writhe at her in asynchronous fury. She ignores it, empties glowing blue shotgun rounds into the cracked, erupting form lumbering toward the commander. The Scion’s shockwave tears into her, knocking her off her feet. “Motherfucking fuck!” she screams. Leaps at the hideous aberration.  _

_ A deep, cavernous vocalization shakes through me. “You will know pain, Shepard,” the synthetic titan sneers. Descends on Shepard’s position. A lazy biotic charge floats toward her. I watch, horrified. The bolt somehow penetrates her cover. Pulls her over the console. She flails in midair, sprawls into the open. Struggles to get her legs beneath her. A crackling stasis field hurtles toward her as she rises.  _

_ Pitched high with alarm, her voice reaches me. “I’m pinned! No shields.”  _

_ A cold feeling rises in my throat. Harbinger’s glowing avatar advances on Shepard. I level the Mantis. Fix my mark. Harbinger is unaware of my concealed perch, but Shepard knows precisely where I will be. Facing me, frozen in place by the stasis field, she sees my barrel pointed right at her. My mark just above and right of her helmet, only a centimetre to spare.  _

_ She has no shields. _

Only once before have I hesitated to take a shot I know to be true. 

_ “Thane,” her voice fills my senses. _

This is the moment. 

_ In the scope, and forever, Shepard locks eyes with me. “ _ **_Do it!_ ** _ ”  _

_ “Siha,” I whisper.  _

_ I pull the trigger.  _

_ The instant stretches into infinity. I watch with agony as the slug cuts a path through the vacuum. An eternity later, it sails clear of Shepard, a few bare millimetres beyond her right temple.  _

_ Pent-up breath explodes from my lungs.  _

_ Harbinger staggers back. The slug shatters his right cheekbone. Glowing plasma erupts from the wound. He lurches forward. Relentless. Yet I have bought Shepard the delay she requires.  _

_ Free of the biotic stasis field, black N7 armour blurs. She lashes like a whip upon Harbinger. She pauses, barely a moment. Steadies the Widow at her shoulder, fixes Harbinger in her crosshairs.  _

_ Pulls the trigger.  _

_ A silent explosion rocks the platform. A flaming slug issues from the Widow’s barrel, the butt slamming into her chest. Limp as a rag doll, Shepard is thrown onto her back, winded. Gasping for air. The slug connects under her target’s chin. The Collector’s brains spew forcefully out through the top of his skull. Her rifle’s silver-gray barrel clutched awkwardly under her right arm, Shepard rolls onto her side. Fumbles. Ejects a steaming, depleted thermal clip and slaps another in place.  _

_ Siha.  _ Even in Shepard’s clumsy dance with the Widow I see the goddess Arashu flowing through her, an unstoppable current. 

_ Harbinger’s voice a flat echo. “This body does not matter.” He abandons his fallen slave. I raise the Mantis, lock onto a stray Collector drone lingering on the right. I pull the trigger before Harbinger can take him. Relief and gratitude flicker in the Collector’s dying yellow eyes. “Go now to the sea,” I whisper.  _

_ A fist blazes. Jack smashes the last Scion to the ground. It ceases its writhing, motionless beneath her. She growls high in her throat. Sweat gleams on her bare torso. Eyes burn with what I can only describe as furious joy. Panting, she stands. A smile spreads across her face. Beautiful, radiant.  _

In my youth, before Irikah woke me from my battle sleep, my body was moved by different predilections. One such as Jack would have set my blood aflame. Even now, I must admit an echo of that desire as I reflect upon her battle prowess. Jack is a warrior like Shepard, magnificent in her ferocity...but she is not  _ siha.  _ Her energies are visceral, unruly,  _ raw _ . She does battle as a jazz musician improvises on a theme -- Shepard may determine the theme, but Jack can never be fully contained. 

Yet Shepard appreciates this, senses precisely where and when to unleash Jack’s fury to the greatest advantage. I was initially surprised by Shepard’s decision to bring the unpredictable young woman on such a sensitive mission. Now, reflecting upon the heaps of enemies Jack left in her wake, Shepard’s intuition appears prescient.   

_ Stillness settles around us. I scan the chamber, fully extending my awareness into the void. “Only we remain.”  _

_ Shepard rises. Shakes the tension from her limbs. Re-shoulders the Widow and the Revenant.  _

_ Her gaze captures me like an insect trapped beneath glass; penetrating, deep as Kahje’s storm-swept oceans.“‘Siha?’” she inquires, raising a curious eyebrow. _

I silently thank Arashu that my face and neck had been concealed by my recon hood. Shepard could not see the incriminating, furious blush upon my frills, the involuntary flutter of my inner eyelids. Two of my species’ involuntary physiological “tells,” the hanar were not entirely successful in eradicating them in me, even through the extensive behavioural conditioning I received in childhood and adolescence. 

I feel the heat again in recalling the moment. In my throat and...elsewhere. 

_ “Perhaps I shall explain sometime, when we are in less pressing circumstances,” I evade.  _

 

“Thane? Is this a bad time?” 

My reverie shatters at the intrusion of Tali’Zorah vas Neema’s resonant, harmonic lilt rising from my activated omni-tool. Startled, I rise, hurrying across the alcove to deactivate my auto-lock. The door hisses open, and I blink against the harsh light outlining the lithe quarian in my doorway.  

“Tali. Forgive me. I was...lost in a memory.” I beckon her to follow me inside. 

“A good one, I hope,” Tali approaches the table, sitting across from me. Her curiosity -- as with all her emotions -- is most evident in her voice, her face concealed by the environmental fog within her helmet. 

“Perhaps not so much good as profound.” I hesitate, considering whether I wish to elaborate, searching for the right words to do so. “Do your people believe in angels?” 

Tali lowers her head apologetically. “My people are prohibited from speaking of quarian religious beliefs to outsiders...anyway, aren’t angels a human concept?”

“The term  _ angel _ evokes a spiritual archetype common to many species’ religious traditions. Agents of deities’ will, sent to protect the innocent, to conquer evil, to bring justice...to heal. Recall how our turian colleague Garrus Vakarian assumed the moniker ‘Archangel’ when bringing order to the streets of Omega.” I turn slightly, reaching for my cup of tea. I discover it has gone cold and set it back down. “My ancestors had different titles for the angels of each of our deities. For example, warrior-angels of the goddess Arashu are called  _ siha.  _ They are remarkable beings. Beautiful, brilliant, and fearless.” 

“You’ve met a...siha?” Tali asks in the same careful tone a psychiatrist might ask a patient. After some deliberation, I choose to answer her question truthfully. 

“I had the privilege of knowing one long ago. Now, I believe I have found another.” 

Tali pauses for a long time, shuffling her avian feet in discomfort. I offer no further explanation, though she appears to be waiting for one. 

Finally, she blurts out, “Krios, are you hitting on me?” 

I blink at her in surprise. “My apologies -- that was not at all my intention.” 

“ _ Good!  _ Oh, uh, I mean…” Tali’s voice rises by approximately an octave, “don’t get me wrong. You have very nice eyes and -- ah -- scales,” Tali rambles in the endearing manner of a flustered adolescent, “and it’s kind of romantic that drell never forget anything...but Mordin pulled me aside after you agreed to join Shepard’s squad. Apparently ‘unprotected contact’ with drell skin venom is fatal to quarians.”

I stifle a smile. “Yes, I was aware of that -- one of a long list of substances potentially fatal to your species.” 

“I -- oh, this is awkward,” Tali groans. “I’m sorry, Thane. I should let you get back to your reflections.” She rises to leave. 

“Tali -- was there something you needed?” I prompt, knowing her visit was unlikely to be a social call. To date, the Normandy’s crew has given me a wide berth, with none but Shepard making regular visits to my alcove in the life support bay. They are not unkind. As with most beings I encounter, the crew have interpreted my reticent manner as a desire for solitude. 

“Oh  _ keelah _ \-- right! Garrus and I were talking with EDI and Dr. Chakwas earlier, and Garrus insists that we can calibrate the heat sink on the O 2 recycling unit. If he’s right, it would decrease the humidity in the life support bay by 9.8%. We wondered if it might help with...”

I center my cup on the table. “My Kepral’s syndrome. Tali’Zorah, I am moved by the thought. Such an adjustment would provide a good deal of relief.” 

“It’s the least we can do to help you settle in.” 

“On the contrary -- it is beyond what I expected, and very much appreciated.” 

Tali shuffles her feet again. “Well...Shepard suggested that you were worth getting to know.” 

This time there is no mask to hide the flush rising upon my neck or the fluttering of my eyelids. “That was...kind of her,” I manage. I sense that behind her mask of purple fog, Tali is watching me very closely. 

“Well, she was right. I’ve enjoyed this conversation. You know -- the parts where I wasn’t making a fool of myself.” 

“Likewise, Tali,” I say, a bit wryly. 

“ _ Hey _ , “ she protests. “You’re  _ supposed _ to say: ‘Oh no, Tali, you haven’t made a fool of yourself at all!’” She does a fair, if somewhat falsetto, impression of my voice.

I cede her point with an amused nod. “It seems I’ve missed my cue. My apologies.” 

Tali settles herself back into the chair. 

“So...you’ve met two of your angels --  _ siha,  _ right?” 

“The first was my wife -- Irikah,” I offer. 

“ _ Was?”  _ Tali cocks her head.

“She was murdered many years ago.” 

“ _ Urgh... _ I’m so sorry, Thane,” Tali’s sprightly curiosity evaporates, her violet-clad, embroidered shoulders sagging. 

“You know the other,” I relent at last. 

Her head snaps up with realization, “ _ Shepard!”  _

“You must not--”

“Of course I won’t tell anyone,” Tali cuts me off. “Though  _ you _ should probably tell  _ her. _ ” 

“She would hardly welcome such a discussion. Dealing with the sentimental admiration of those under her command presumably ranks low among her priorities.” 

“Don’t be so sure,” Tali counters. “When I thought you were talking about  _ me _ ...well, just don’t be so sure,” she rises to leave, embarrassed again. 

“Tali,” I stop her. Surprised to note my confession has left me with a wholly unfamiliar sense of lightness, I feel a surge of affection and gratitude toward the young quarian, and wish to diminish her discomfort in return. “It is significant that you correctly recognized yourself in my description of  _ siha _ , even though my thoughts were of another. Shepard has gathered remarkable beings about her -- fierce, loyal, intelligent, courageous. I have fought most of my battles alone. Even when I was with my wife and son, I never understood myself to be capable of excelling as part of a whole. I am discovering now -- to my fortune, and my regret -- that I was incorrect.” 

“Thank you, Thane,” her voice is thick with pride, and a subharmonic hint of sadness. “I’ll tell Garrus and EDI we should get started with those calibrations.” 

I turn back to my window. “I am much obliged.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The idea for this chapter began with my wondering what precise moment or event might have led Thane to first recognize Shepard as siha. I found his recollection of falling for Irikah in the sniper scope compelling, and I thought it might be poetic (and hopefully not just hackish) if his realization about Shepard occurred at a similarly magnified/emphasized moment. I’m also really obsessed with the M-98 Widow, so I wanted to work the Widow into that moment, to use it as a device to enhance Thane’s increasing admiration of Shepard. To my thinking, the Widow comes to signify how Shepard takes up and wields power all too often reserved (in OUR society) by men (in video games, and otherwise) without being reduced to a man with boobs. Shepard is strong and fragile, stoic and tender, rational and emotional - and those things work together to create a truly 3-dimensional, realized woman hero. 
> 
> I agonized for a ridiculous amount of time over whether Thane’s weapon of choice should be the Mantis or the Viper. A *ridiculous* amount of time. I’m still not 100% certain the Mantis is the right call. Ultimately, because Thane strikes me as a “one shot should be enough” kind of combatant, I went with the Mantis, which packs a bigger punch per shot but requires deadly precision to wield effectively.


	2. Elasa

I stumble out into the harsh light of the hallway. Sliding metal doors click shut behind me. I place a steadying hand on a nearby supply shelf. 

_ Breathe. Just breathe. _

I can’t. There’s a sucking black hole in my chest where my lungs ought to be. 

_ What are you doing? Don’t just leave him in there. Don’t leave him… _

I turn back to the door, lift my hand up to the auto-lock. It glows red. I can still see the mottled blue of Kolyat’s bowed head through the glass, praying and weeping over his father’s body. Both are turned toward the enormous window overlooking the majestic pools and fountains of the presidium -- the last thing he saw with his fathomless black eyes before I reached over and closed them forever. 

_ No. Let it go. It’s over. You’ve said your goodbyes. Just breathe.  _

I remain at the threshold of the operating room a few moments longer. A lanky, sandy-skinned salarian doctor pauses to look at me with concern. He gazes at the room behind me and understanding dawns. He gives a sympathetic quirk of his mouth before hurrying on, clipboard in hand. 

_ You’re a mess. Can’t let Hackett see you like this. Can’t let the  _ **_crew_ ** _ see you like this. _

I do the only thing I can do -- what I have always done. 

_ Put one foot in front of the next. Ride the numbness through the next steps. Washroom. Normandy. Debrief with Hackett. Check in on the crew. _

They’ll be worried after the coup attempt on the Citadel. After Udina…

_ God...that stupid, stupid bastard. And that Cerberus freak, Kai fucking Leng… _

Murderer. I will chase him through every mass relay in the galaxy if I have to. I will break him, beat him with my bare hands, choke the life out of him until that smug look forever disappears from his face. 

I skirt through Huerta Memorial’s waiting area, keeping my head down to avoid prying eyes. I dart into the washroom. Thankfully, it is empty. Activating my omni-tool, I punch in a series of commands to engage the maintenance lock. 

With the door safely shut behind me, I turn toward the mirror. My cheeks are gaunt, my eyes sunken and bloodshot, ringed by gimmicky asari mascara that’s never supposed to run. My dress blues are dirty and torn, blood smeared across the abdomen. I touch it --  _ his _ blood. My hair stands up in wild kinks, matted with sweat and medi-gel. The jaunty fuchsia I dyed it in a fit of boredom during my Alliance house arrest seems to mock me now. I want to pull it all out. I want to be ugly. 

I never want anyone to look at me again, the way  _ he _ looked at me.

_ He seemed so small, lying there. Struggling to breathe. His hands were so cold. They'd always looked like they should be cold, but they weren’t. They were warm… _

My eyes sting and I shut them hard. 

_ Don’t think. Keep moving. Normandy. Hackett. Crew.  _

I activate the taps and splash cold water on my face until the stinging passes. I wipe away the racoon rings and rake my fingers through my hair. I still look like shit, but Admiral Hackett’s seen me at the end of a hundred firefights. I square my shoulders.

**_Move_ ** _ , soldier.  _

I release the lockout on the washroom door. Two asari doctors shoulder their way inside, their pretty azure faces creased with irritation. Ignoring them, I make for the elevator. I need to put some distance between myself and this godforsaken hospital. 

As I punch my destination into the V.I. terminal, I am flooded with the memory of the last time I left Huerta in this elevator _.  _

_ My back presses against the cold metal panel, dress uniform top pulled partway open and bunched up above my waist. His hands are running all over me, tangled in my hair, his ragged breath against my neck. “Siha,” he whispers as I pull him closer. _

I choke back a sob.

**_Breathe._ **

Mercifully, the elevator trip is brief, and I am deposited at docking bay D-24 before the memory overwhelms me. Almost running now, I push my way past the rush of people crowding the docks -- soldiers saying final goodbyes to their tearful significant others, reporters on the prowl for their next scoop, C-Sec officers pacing around the perimeter with grim faces, civilians staring at the skies, waiting for the ships carrying their loved ones. I evade them all, arriving at the airlock leading to the Normandy. 

I look up. Standing by the airlock is the  _ last  _ person I want to see right now.

“Commander Shepard!” Lieutenant-Commander Ashley Williams is leaning against the wall. God dammit, has she been standing there  _ waiting _ for me? 

“Williams,” I reply, and level an expectant look at the young officer. 

“Can we talk, Commander?” Williams is eager, tense. 

“Can it wait, Ash? This isn’t a good time.” 

“It’ll only take a minute,” Ash insists. 

I sigh, and face her squarely. “Okay, shoot.” 

“About what happened out there...” she begins. 

If she asks me if I’m with Cerberus again, I’m pretty sure I’m going to punch her right in the face. 

“I...I was ready to shoot you. God dammit, Shepard, I almost  _ did _ ,” Williams says, her voice shaking.

I soften a bit. She’s still rattled by the standoff -- and justifiably so. She had been escorting that ass Udina, along with the asari and turian councilors, Tevos and Sparatus, to an escape shuttle when Garrus, Liara, and I burst onto the landing pad and confronted them, guns drawn. Ash had once again assumed I was still working with Cerberus, this time to kill the council and seize control of the Citadel. What Ash hadn’t known was that  _ Udina _ , the human councilor who had just granted her Spectre status, was the real traitor. 

“Ash -- I’m just glad we were both able to trust each other and stand down.” 

“Yeah -- me, too,” Williams agrees. “I can’t believe you killed Udina!” 

My mouth is a hard line. “He didn’t leave me much choice. He had a gun pointed at Tevos’s head -- and he was desperate enough to pull the trigger.”  

“He had it coming. I should have seen it. I could have stopped all this if I’d realized--”

“I didn’t see it either, Ash. Hell, after Earth was hit by the Reapers, Udina was starting to look downright sympathetic. If Councilor Valern hadn’t followed Udina’s money trail and tipped me off...” I trail off. 

_ If you hadn’t found out about the Cerberus plot,  _ **_he_ ** _ wouldn’t have been there to meet Kai Leng’s sword. He wouldn’t have ended the fight slumped against the wall, blood pouring through his long green fingers, insisting “I have time,” so you would unsuccessfully pursue Leng instead of staying to apply medi-gel to his wound. He wouldn’t have spent the last of his breath begging his ancient goddesses for your salvation... _

I change the subject. “So, what are your plans now?” 

“I’ve been offered a position on Admiral Hackett’s team,” Ash confesses. 

“That’s quite an honour -- right in the middle of the action. And Hackett’s the best.” 

“Not quite the best, ma’am,” she smiles at me. 

“Have you accepted the posting?” I ask. Now that Ash is a Spectre, she has far more say than a typical Alliance soldier regarding her own deployment. 

“No,” Ash hesitates, then adds, “I wanted to talk to you first. If you’ll allow it, I’d rather be on the Normandy.” 

I extend my hand to shake hers. As much as Williams’ sanctimonious attitude around my past Cerberus involvement still rankles, she’s an outstanding soldier, and I know I’m going to need her. “We’ll be proud to have you back, Ash. Grab your gear.” 

Ash’s s mouth, still faintly bruised from her near-fatal altercation with Dr. Eva at the Mars Archive, curves into a smile. “Thanks ma’am. I’ll join you aboard shortly,” she salutes, and springs off to make the necessary arrangements. 

With some relief, I allow the rictus of decorum to slide momentarily from my face. I gaze out over the railing, watching the ships arriving and departing. After a few minutes, I turn and open the airlock. 

_ Normandy. Hackett. _

___________________________

I grip the console and lean toward the Q.E.C. receiver. The holo-image of Admiral Hackett wavers, giving the man a tremulous quality ill-matched with his stalwart in-person presentation. Concern is now permanently etched on his weathered face. 

“It’s fortunate you were there, Shepard. If Udina’s treachery had succeeded, the Illusive Man would have control of the Citadel and the council would have been executed. Your intervening to protect Tevos and Valern made a huge impact. The asari have finally agreed to contribute to the war effort -- they’ve pledged their Second and Sixth Fleets, the Destiny Ascension, and a science team to assist with the Crucible. In addition, the salarians have committed their Third Fleet despite your decision to release the genophage cure on Tuchanka -- it’s a damned good thing you were there to save Valern.” 

“It was an expensive victory, sir. And I can’t take the credit for saving Valern.”

_ He had the drop on Leng before we even knew what was happening. He moved like deep green lightning, his lean muscled arms tight around Leng’s throat, giving the salarian councillor Valern time to run for cover. Even weakened from his advanced illness and his sprint from Huerta to the embassy, the agile drell was nearly Leng’s match. It was more luck than skill that allowed the Cerberus assassin to break free, and it took Leng several passes to locate a single lapse in his opponent’s defenses, allowing him to deliver a poorly-placed stab that shouldn’t have been fatal...wouldn’t have been, under normal circumstances... _

I raise my chin, gaze levelly at Hackett’s hologram, “We lost good people today.” 

“A lot more will be lost before this is over, Shepard. That’s why you’re out there putting a stop to it. I have every confidence you’ll succeed. Is there anything else?” 

My fingers tighten on the console. “We ran into a Cerberus operative I’ve never seen before, sir. Kai Leng. He’s a brutal psychopath -- even by Cerberus standards -- and he caught us completely unprepared. If my...if a former squadmate hadn’t intervened, Valern would have been dead before I could fire a shot. We need intel so he doesn’t get the jump on us again.” 

“Leng...” there’s a faraway look on Hackett’s face. “This is bad news, Shepard. He’s former Alliance military, even completed the N7 program. But he was discharged Cat-6, and serving a life sentence for murder when he escaped our maximum-security lockup in Vancouver. It was clear he’d had help from someone with considerable resources -- the Illusive Man certainly fits that bill. I’d better get word to Captain Anderson. He’s got a history with Leng -- he’ll want to debrief you on this one personally. I’ll patch him in on the Q.E.C. as soon as I can raise him.” 

“Aye sir. The Normandy will stay docked at the Citadel for the next forty-eight hours. We’ve still got procurement and maintenance issues to resolve before we rendezvous with the quarian flotilla. We’ll get underway as soon as possible.” 

“See that you do,” Hackett nods. “Hackett out.” 

The Q.E.C. blinks off. I stand for a moment, staring into empty space. I want nothing more than to go up to my cabin, crawl into bed, and pull the covers over my head. 

I can’t do that. The crew will start to wonder, and distractions are death out here. I need them at their best. 

_ One foot in front of the next _ .  

I turn away from the Q.E.C. and head out through the war room. Privates Westmoreland and Campbell raise salutes as I step into the security scanner, then return to their usual gossip as they initiate the standard protocols. 

“I can’t believe that son of a bitch Udina sold out the Citadel council to the Illusive Man,” Campbell remarks from behind her console as a sweeping sheet of blue light passes over my body. “Cerberus already makes humans look bad -- now Udina’s made us look even worse.” 

“The council weren’t lifting a finger to aid Earth against the Reaper attacks,” Westmoreland counters. “In a way, I can see why Udina would turn to the Illusive Man. That’s a desperation move...”

The scans complete, I leave Campbell and Westmoreland to their speculation. I enter the C.I.C., approaching the galaxy map. 

“Commander,” Samantha Traynor looks up from her terminal, her eyes wide with concern. “I’m glad you’re back. Things sounded pretty tense down there.” 

I nod stiffly, “You could say that.” 

“Um. Well, I’m glad you were able to save the council. And I hear Lieutenant-Commander Williams will be joining us now,” Traynor pauses, opening her mouth as if to say more, then closing it again. 

“She should be boarding shortly. Is there anything else, Specialist?” 

“No, Commander. We’ll have a bunk ready for Williams when she gets here. Everything else is under control.” 

“That’ll be all.”

“Yes, Commander,” Traynor nods grimly. I start away toward the cockpit.

“Shepard,” Traynor says softly behind me. I turn back to look at her.

“Traynor?” 

“Are you... _ sure _ you’re all right?” her voice is hesitant. 

I evade her gaze. Traynor’s enormous, molten brown eyes are hugs and turkey dinners and home. I want to go there, but I can’t. Not now. Maybe not ever. I manage a quick nod, then turn away again. 

_ Keep moving. Joker. EDI.  _

I jog along the catwalk to join Joker and EDI in the cockpit. I stand behind them for a moment, gazing at Joker’s lighted display panels and the vast field of stars beyond them. Joker and EDI are bowed over their stations, uncharacteristically silent. Normally when I approach, I find the two in the middle of a battle of wills, or a detailed autopsy of a human reaction EDI has found bewildering. 

“Joker. EDI,” I greet them. 

“Hey, Commander,” Joker swivels in his seat to face me. “Nice work down there. Now that you’ve saved the council twice, maybe they’ll do you the favor of telling you straight-up to ‘get bent’ the next time you ask them for help against the Reapers.”

I give a short, humourless laugh. “Amazingly, they’ve kicked in a few of their frigates -- but they’re still keeping most of their forces back to protect their own borders.” As with Traynor, I’m having difficulty meeting Joker’s merry hazel eyes. 

“Hey, that’s a big step up from accusing you of paranoid hallucinations about nonexistent Reaper boogeymen,”  Joker’s mouth quirks wryly, “and I hear Gunnery Chief Williams is back. Oh wait... _ Lieutenant-Commander _ Williams, the newly-minted Spectre.  _ Two  _ Spectres on the ship, plus the Shadow Broker. Now I’m  _ really _ going to have to watch what I download on the extranet.” 

“EDI?” I prompt after a pause. “Nothing to add there? Joker just left himself wide open.” 

EDI’s polished silver face is unreadable. “No, Shepard. I believe I will let Jeff ‘off the hook’ this time. I am analyzing Reaper code in an effort to further protect the Normandy’s systems from attempts at a remote incursion.” 

“I see. Anything else to report, Joker?” I ask.

“No ma’am. Systems are all running in the green. Engine maintenance is on-schedule, though I still think they’re exaggerating the 48 hour completion estimate. You know --  _ engineers, _ ” he rolls his eyes.

“Carry on, then,” I dismiss them. 

_ Keep moving. Shuttle bay. _

__________________________________

Joker turns sideways to face EDI as Shepard leaves the cockpit. “Shit. Looks like doc was right. She’s in bad shape...” 

Joker had received the communiqué from Dr. Chakwas several hours ago. Chakwas had been at Huerta Memorial requisitioning medical supplies when the hospital went into lockdown, and had spent the past cycle treating those injured during the Cerberus coup attempt. Her rushed message to Joker had been terse and to the point: 

_ Thane Krios will not survive the night. Look after Shepard.  _

“I agree with your assessment. My scans indicate Shepard’s neurotransmitter activity has decreased sharply, and thermal readings suggest dampened metabolic processes. She is also exhibiting numerous behavioural indicators of significant distress. Jeff,” EDI continues plaintively, “I do  _ not _ see your logic in...”

“Just  _ don’t _ , EDI. Don’t say anything to her.” 

“But there is an established precedent to offer support during times of conflict and loss. We have reminisced with her about many lost companions -- most recently when Dr. Solus gave his life to distribute the genophage cure on Tuchanka. Shepard always appears to appreciate this. And Thane was important to her. Should we not be offering our condolences?” 

Joker sighs, studying EDI’s earnest, sculpted metallic polymer face. “Normally, yes, that would be the appropriate response. But this is different. Thane was more than just  _ important _ \--”

“I am familiar with the nature of Shepard’s relationship with Thane. Nearly one year ago, at Dr. Solus’s insistence, I forwarded each of them comprehensive manuals on drell and human mating psychophysiology. There is strong evidence that they put them to excellent use. I have several recordings from the commander’s cabin, the life support bay, the cockpit of the M-44 Hammerhead, and the aft cargo elevator, as well as...”

“Okay yeah I remember you telling me.  _ Several times,” _ Joker cuts her off quickly. “Look -- she’s the  _ commander, _ EDI. She is holding herself together -- barely -- because she  _ has _ to. You mention Thane right now, and she’s going to fly apart at the seams.” 

“So your motive is to assist the commander to maintain her calm demeanor, so she does not ‘lose face’ in front of the crew,” EDI muses. 

“Right. She doesn’t  _ want _ us to see her unhinged. Being in commander mode is something she can hang on to at times like this. I know. I was there when Kaidan Alenko died.” 

“But Jeff -- if Shepard is afraid to appear vulnerable in front of the crew, who else can she talk to? Are we not also her friends? Can she not trust us to continue to respect her authority, even if she becomes momentarily ‘unhinged’?” 

Joker makes a frustrated sound. “Yes, we’re her friends, and she can trust us. But we’re her  _ crew _ first. She needs to know that we see her as unbreakable -- that we know she won’t run off to cry in her cabin while the Reapers attack, or the Normandy goes down in flames. Plus -- we’re not the best people she can talk to about this. Trust me.” 

EDI ponders for a moment. “Perhaps Dr. T’Soni will speak with Shepard, then. She and X.O. Vakarian have known her longer than anyone else aboard -- except for you and Dr. Chakwas,” EDI pauses, “I will send them messages to request they speak with her.” 

“Don’t do that, EDI. Liara and Garrus already know -- they were there with her on the Citadel when it happened. If they’re comfortable talking to her about it, they will.” 

_______________________

Stepping out of the elevator and into the shuttle bay, I hear the hiss of Steve Cortez’s plasma torch as he makes repairs to the UT-47 Kodiak. Past the procurement station, James Vega is grunting his way through a series of hanging sit-ups. 

I approach Cortez first. Engrossed in his work, he doesn’t notice until I’m right beside him. He jumps slightly. 

“Commander! Sorry, didn’t hear you there,” Cortez sounds a bit sheepish.

“At ease, Lieutenant,” I offer a weak smile. “How’s the Kodiak?” 

“She took a few hits during the last landing. Just ironing out the kinks now,” Cortez shuts off the plasma torch and sets it down on the workbench. “I hear the shit really hit the fan on the Citadel. I’m glad you made it out in one piece, Commander.” 

“Mostly,” I say. 

“Hey, Esteban!” Vega shouts from across the cargo bay. “ _ 150 _ \-- beat that!” 

“In my sleep, Vega,” Cortez shouts back. He turns back to me. “Sorry, Commander. We’ve got a competition going.” 

“Good to see you both staying on your toes,” I wander toward Vega. I feel like I’m sleepwalking. The hulking soldier drops from his workout bar, sweat gleaming on his face and neck, staining the underarms of his white t-shirt. He hooks his thumbs under the hem and lifts it up in the front. He flexes his abs, nods at me, and grins. 

“Eh? EH?” he prompts, fishing for a compliment.

I don’t bite. “How are things down here, James?” 

“Same old same old.” Vega drops his t-shirt back down. “Esteban’s still clucking over his shuttle like a mother hen.” His smile fades a little. “What happened on the Citadel...that was fucked up, Lola.” 

I don’t have the energy to reprimand him for calling me “Lola” again. I just nod. 

“The council owes you big time now. Maybe we’ll finally get some action out of them.” 

“Not enough,” I say bitterly. 

_ Hey, be fair, now - you got three very influential stuffed shirts, three more fleets, a dreadnought, and a science team in exchange for those last precious moments you might have had before Kepral’s syndrome could take him -- or before the war could take you. A neutral observer would call that a bargain.  _

_ What would Garrus call it? “The ruthless calculus of war.” _

Vega puffs out his cheeks. “Politicians, ah? Useless.” 

“You read my mind, Vega.” 

Vega turns back to his workbench. “Later.” 

_ Traynor, Cortez, and Vega never even had a chance to know him -- everyone else has already forgotten him. An unjust end for a soul who never forgot anything, or anyone… _

I return to the elevator, angrily punching in my next destination.

_ Engineering. _

_ _________________________ _

After poking my head in on a three-way argument between Engineers Adams, Daniels, and Donnelly about the nature of EDI’s consciousness (and, thanks to Donnelly, her “generous metal rack”), I duck back out of the engine room. I can barely follow their debate, let alone settle it for them. 

I decide not to stop by Diana Allers’s quarters. She’ll want to interview me about the coup attempt. Talking to the young embedded journalist would be risky in my current mood -- even though Allers is on-the-level for a reporter. At my best, I have a knack for making an ass of myself in front of news cameras. 

I turn toward the port cargo hold, hesitating a moment. I wonder if talking to Javik is almost as bad an idea. The angry prothean is unpredictable -- insightful one moment, brutal the next. He might just spend the next ten minutes telling me stories about how 50,000 years ago, when the protheans ruled the galaxy and the council races were in their infancy, his people used to stomp on drell hatchlings for amusement.

I fight the urge to run down the stairs and hide on the engineering subdeck. Jack’s now-abandoned haunt is the most out-of-the-way part of the ship -- quiet, dark, and safe. 

_ Coward. Keep moving.  _

Javik has rigged the atmospheric controls in the port cargo hold to produce a cold mist that hangs thick in the air. I can see his bowed form facing away from the door. He is washing his hands at one of his basins. 

At first, I’d been taken aback by Javik’s obsessive washing. He’d shouted at the security officers minutes after coming aboard for the first time, insisting they bring down basins of cold water immediately and threatening violence if they didn’t obey. It wasn’t until Javik explained his ability to absorb traces of past events and memories through physical contact with matter that I fully registered the water’s importance to him. Javik  _ needed _ the water to disrupt that constant stream of information, to ground himself against an overwhelming barrage of sensory input.

I walk to the basin he’s not currently using and look down into its rippling depths. I can see my own distorted face. 

“Commander,” Javik greets without looking up. 

“Javik,” I reply. 

“We have a new enemy, this  _ ‘Kai Leng’  _ human you encountered on the Citadel. It is good to have a name for the enemy I will enjoy killing the most. We must learn all we can about him, so that we may destroy him utterly,” Javik’s deep voice is like hot iron.

I grind my teeth. “Yes. We must.” 

He looks up at me slowly, studying my face intensely. He’s seen something in my eyes, heard something in my voice. “It is unlike you to choose vengeance over diplomacy. That is your most irritating quality. Also, the monkey smell.” 

I ignore the taunt. “He’s a monster, and we need to put him down before he can harm anyone else.” 

“No. For you, it is more than that,” Javik steps close to me, his bare fingers grasping my arm. His head bows as he pulls the information he seeks from my body. “I sense enormous pain in you. Rage. Grief. Emptiness,” he pauses, touching the blood on the front of my dress uniform. “This is not yours. It belongs to the sick one who was here before, in the life support bay. The drell assassin.” Javik’s eyes narrow with anger as he drills deeper. “He was killed by the  _ ‘Kai Leng’ _ human.” 

He pulls his fingers away, and says with uncharacteristic softness, “He was your mate.” 

I can’t speak. I stand gripping the basin, breathing slowly. I nod. 

“It was foolish of you to choose a mate you knew to be dying!” Javik’s voice is stern. “Such choices weaken you.” 

I flinch at his words, anger flaring in my chest. “This would hurt just as much if I’d chosen  _ not _ to be with him. There was no point in denying how I felt, to myself, or to him. That would have weakened us both.” 

Javik considers for a moment, then nods, satisfied with my response. “There _ are _ times when our emotions choose us. Now you are forced to learn the lesson of pain I learned when I lost a mate for the first time.” 

“What happened?” I ask though I’m not certain I want to hear his answer. 

“She was our tactical specialist. Brilliant. Deadly. She seized possession of a Reaper artifact. It was a great victory,” Javik’s voice is proud as he reminisces. “It was hoped the artifact contained secrets we could turn against the Reapers. We arranged to send it off-world for study. However, the containment shield malfunctioned. She was exposed to the artifact without our knowledge.”

“She was indoctrinated...” I whisper.

Javik inclines his triangular head. “She had access to all of our strategies. Our positions. Our numbers. Our offensive and defensive capabilities. She gave this information to the Reapers. We suffered catastrophic losses.” His amber, dual-pupiled eyes are distant. “None could understand. Our plans were superior, yet they continued to fail. In the midst of this, I could see her behaviour was odd. I confronted her. She had stolen a V.I. program designed to guide the asari primitives. I could not allow this.” He lowers his head. “She tried to run. I shot her in the back. She returned to herself as she lay dying. ‘Javik, I’m sorry,’ she said...”

I make an involuntary choking noise and turn away from him. 

“Commander?”

“Right after...I just had to kill an ally who betrayed us, too. Councilor Udina. I don’t know if he was indoctrinated, but that’s what all this is coming to, isn’t it?” 

_ Fighting monsters wearing friends’ faces, assassinating leaders at the first sign of betrayal, smothering children to save them from being taken _ …

I feel dizzy, nauseated. 

“No -- this will not do. My tale has weakened you further, left you frightened of what is to come. You must draw strength from this lesson. You must remember what we are fighting for, and why it is  _ you _ who must lead us.” Javik pauses to think for a moment. “You and the drell left traces of your joining throughout the ship. I found them...entertaining.” 

“You--” I start. “Traces?” 

Javik reaches for me again, but hesitates this time. “There is one I would share with you now – if you wish it.” 

I begin to tremble. 

_ Yes. God, yes.  _

_ No... _

“Please,” I whisper, not entirely sure which one I mean. 

Javik’s cool fingers grasp my arm again. The fog-filled cargo bay falls away.

_ We gaze at each other across the table, our hands clasped, not wanting to let go as we know – as we always have – it may be for the last time. Sadness and longing gnaw at my gut.  _

_ Unable to bear it, I pull myself free and sweep my arm across the tabletop. His datapads and borrowed hardcover books go flying, my empty steel coffee mug bounces and rolls as I vault over the table. He’s startled, but still catches me deftly in his wiry, leather-clad arms, his black eyes wide and intrigued. He smiles up at me shyly, his frills deepening red.  _

_ A wave of heat surges through me and I clutch at the fastenings of his leather armor, pulling them open. I wrap my legs around his waist, drawing myself onto his lap. He inhales sharply as I bury my face in his neck, pushing my tongue deep into the sensitive ruby-red creases at his throat. I feel him quickening beneath me as he pulls me downward, his fingers digging into my shoulders.  _

_ A familiar sharp prickle dances on my scalp, the hairs rising on the back of my neck. This time I am unafraid, welcoming the flood of heightened sensations as colours deepen and brighten and the running lights from the Tantalus drive leave tracers in their wake. I think I can hear the faint hum of the tiny pockets of element zero embedded deep in his flesh.  _

_ He lifts me onto the table. I tear at his armor, stripping it away, exposing the lean, scaled mosaic of his torso, deep mottled green laced with ribbons of black. I trace the ribbons with my fingertips, fascinated by the warm satin of his scales, the movement of his hard, ropy muscles beneath them.  _

_ He unzips my Cerberus-issue jumpsuit and peels it away with slow reverence, his mouth finding every newly exposed inch of me. Tiny shockwaves sing through my hyper-charged nerve endings with each brush of his lips, each flick of his tongue. “I never cease to wonder at the paradox of your skin,” he whispers against me. “Soft, as summer rain on Kahje. How can such strength emerge from something so delicate?”  _

_ I answer by pulling away what little remains of his clothing. We look upon each other for a moment, and under his intense gaze I flush with the knowledge that he will recall every detail with perfect clarity. His eyelids flutter as he notes the sweat blossoming on my face, the slight tremor in my hands.   _

_ “Siha, you are shaking,” he says with curiosity. _

_ “You’re going to remember all of this...” I admit.  _

_ “Yes,” he breathes. “Again and again...” _

_ We collide in a tangle of limbs. Our mouths find each other hungrily as he lifts me onto his cot. I sink onto my back and pull him down with me, giving way beneath his lean, powerful body. He takes my face in his hands. I can read the unspoken question in his silent hesitation.  _

_ I lock eyes with him. “Do it.”  _

_ “Siha,” he whispers.  _

_ He drives into me and my hips snap upward to meet him. I can feel the ridges that curl along his shaft sliding deep. I let out a low growl, my head falling back onto the cot. My arms and legs tighten around him, drawing him closer as he begins to rock his hips with slow, deliberate strokes. I feel his abdominal muscles rippling against my own. I arch my back, wanting.  _

_ “I need all of you,” I moan into his neck. He shivers and I feel him pulsate inside me.  _

_ “I am yours,” he rasps low in his throat. He hooks his arms beneath my knees, drawing them upward, lifting my hips from the cot. He sinks forward with all his ridged length and I let out a yell of pleasure and anguish. He draws back, concerned, and I gasp a negation, pulling him back to me, coaxing him to push forward harder, faster.  _

_ We cling to each other, slick with my sweat and his venom, rising and falling like crashing waves as the cot’s light metal frame rings against the floor. My body is on fire and his begins to glow as the element zero in his tissue resonates with his approaching orgasm. He slows briefly to channel the biotic charge into his fingertips, then traces down my neck, my breasts, my stomach, and last upon the swell of my clitoris. The biotic field undulates gently and I close my eyes, the sensations filling me, driving away all thought. He weaves a second mass effect field and I begin to float upward. He seizes me and drills deep into my weightless body, deeper than I ever thought possible. I scream and claw at his back as delirious waves of pleasure wrack me. I seize him with my legs, consuming him as he cries out, throwing his head back, losing himself inside me.  _

_ We collapse in a heap on the cot, gasping for breath and trembling, holding on to each other.  _

_ “You’re making it very difficult to leave, siha,” his voice is low and mournful despite his attempt to lighten the situation with humour. “But if it is your wish...” _

_ I prop myself up on an elbow. “It is  _ not _ my wish,” I say, angry, still flushed with the exertion of our lovemaking. “My wish...” I bite my lip hard. “My wish is to kick the crew out at the nearest spaceport, steal the Normandy, and fly off with you somewhere past the Traverse, through some uncharted Mass Relay where the Alliance and Cerberus and the Reapers will never find us. My wish is to kidnap a team of salarian geniuses and force them at gunpoint to find a cure for Kepral’s syndrome. My wish...” I have to stop because my voice is breaking. I look away from him.  _

_ “Siha,” his voice is full of love.  _

_ “You have to know,” I manage to choke out, “I don’t want you to leave.”  _

_ “I understand why you’ve ordered me to do so,” he assures me. “You are saving me a lonely death in an Alliance prison. You  _ **_are_ ** _ strong, siha. You could be selfish, keep me by your side a moment longer. Instead, you set me free and return to face judgement alone. You accept suffering so that I might spend my last days making amends with my son.”  _

_ “It’s the only option.”  _

_ “No,” he says. “It is the _ **_right_ ** _ option, which you always find the strength to choose, no matter the cost to yourself. That is why I follow you, even when your order is to follow no longer.”  _

_ “I love you,” I whisper, my head against his chest.  _

Javik removes his hand as I sink to my knees, one hand over my face, the other still clutching the basin. He kneels beside me. 

“You have lost much that you have cherished. With the drell, you allowed yourself a small pocket of hope and joy, so new, sundered from you while still in its infancy. This loss is the insult that has ignited all the rest -- an ember, falling on a pool of fuel. I have suffered _many_ losses such as this. And if we do not stop the Reapers, **_all_** will eventually share in our suffering.” 

I can only stare, unblinking to hold back the tears that threaten to spill over, as the stoic prothean speaks. His rows of yellow eyes burn into me as he continues. 

“You must gather up all you are feeling -- all the excruciating fire that burns inside you. You must shape it into the weapon you will carry into battle, a weapon powerful enough to destroy our enemies. You must set fire to them as they have set fire to you,” his voice is a rising crescendo as he clasps my hand in his, hard enough to hurt. “When that day comes, I vow to you that I will stand at your side, and together we will bring the wrath of a billion suns upon the  _ ‘Kai Leng’  _ human, upon Cerberus, and upon the Reapers. We will avenge your fallen...and mine.” 

I struggle to rise. I feel the fire burning inside me, and I know he is right. 

Javik rises as well, and turns to his basin. “Wash,” he instructs me. “The water will bring you stillness.” 

I plunge my hands and face into the cold basin, trying to shock myself back into my body. I scrub my face, my hair, my hands and arms. I rise, rivulets streaming down onto my already ruined dress uniform.

“Thank you,” I say. 

Javik simply nods without looking up from his washing. Without another word, I exit the cargo bay. 

_ Crew deck... _

____________________________

“EDI, I mean it -- leave her alone,” Joker glares at his AI companion.

“No, Jeff,” EDI’s glossy metallic mouth is set in a decent approximation of a stubborn scowl. “I am going to send alerts to Dr. T’Soni and Garrus. Shepard entered the life support bay two hours ago, and has not moved from her current position for ninety-six minutes and three seconds.” 

“Maybe she’s taking a nap,” Joker suggests. “Or maybe she  _ wants to be left alone. _ ” 

“Shepard is not sleeping. She is seated on the floor in a semi-upright position. Her serotonin, norepinephrine, and dopamine receptor activity have fallen into what Yeoman Kelly Chambers used to describe as the  _ ‘oh shit’ _ range.” EDI’s tone grows firm, “Dr. Chakwas has ordered us to take care of Shepard. Since you will not permit me to offer my support directly, I will seek their assistance in aiding her.” 

“ _ EDI!” _

“You are too late, Jeff. I have sent the alerts.” EDI returns her attention to the display in front of her, a satisfied expression on her face. 

____________________________

“Shepard. I thought I might find you in here.” 

From behind me I hear a deep, resonant voice I know almost as well as my own. A long, spindly shadow with vaguely equestrian double-jointed knees and a feathered crest falls to my right. The door to the life support bay slides shut, plunging the room back into semidarkness, with only the running lights from the O 2 recycler and the Tantalus core to illuminate the bay. 

“Garrus,” I mumble, my arms wrapped around my legs, forehead pressed to my knees. My back rests against the wall in the alcove where his cot had been before the Alliance retrofit team cleared it away. Beside me on the floor rests the only item the team left behind. 

“His favorite cup,” Garrus muses. “I don’t think I ever saw it empty while he was on board. The guy loved his tea. Or maybe he hated it -- I was never really sure which.” 

_ He loved it, but he almost never got through a cup before it went cold. He used to say it was “too conducive to reflection.” _

“Shit...look at me, Garrus,” I lift my head and gesture vaguely around me. “What am I doing here?” 

“Trying to find some part of him to hang on to,” Garrus is matter-of-fact. “It’s what I’d do.” 

I shake my head. “You would never fall apart like this. You’d grab your sniper rifle, rally your squad, and hunt Kai Leng and Cerberus across the galaxy.” 

“That’s  _ exactly _ what you’re going to do, Shepard. You just need to catch your breath first.” Garrus holds out his hand to me. “Come on. We’ve got some important business to take care of.” 

I let him help me up. “What is it?” 

Garrus shakes his head. “First, we’re going to stop by the bar. Bring the cup.” 

I scoop up the mug from the floor, cradling it against my chest as Garrus leads me from the life support bay to the port observation lounge. As we enter the deserted lounge, he gestures to the bar, circling around behind it as I sit.

“Name your poison,” Garrus sweeps his armor-clad three-fingered hand along the rows of bottles illuminated on the shelf behind him.

“Weeping heart?” I ask hopefully. It wouldn’t be the same, but a drell venom martini would produce an echo of what it felt like to be with him.

Garrus shakes his head apologetically, “I thought you might ask, so I checked. Apparently Jack had a taste for the stuff, too. She cleaned us out before we hit the Omega 4 relay, and -- well, even  _ she _ didn’t have the nerve to ask Thane to refill the vial. But,” he gestures, “there might be some traces of his venom left on that mug.”

“No -- I already tried that,” I admit. 

Garrus chuckles.  

“Okay. Uh, Ryncol then?” I suggest. “Grunt swears by the stuff.” 

“Shepard, Dr. Chakwas is still on the Citadel. It’s not safe for you to start bleeding internally until she gets back.” 

“Okay, okay,” I study the rows of bottles for a moment. “What’s the green one there?” 

“Good choice. Elasa, ‘Sorrow’s Companion.’” Garrus retrieves the bottle from the shelf, twisting off the top. “Asari swill, but very appropriate for the occasion.” He pours a generous quantity into the mug. 

“What are you having?” I ask him. 

He rummages around under the bar. “Kasumi kept all the dextro liquor on the bottom shelf so nobody would make any fatal mixology errors…ah, here we go. Turian brandy.” He pulls out a bottle. 

I tip back the mug and drain its cold, bitter green contents. I shudder. “It’s perfect.” 

“Sheesh...wait up, Shepard,” Garrus finishes pouring his drink before topping up mine. He raises his glass. “Here’s to Thane. One of the scariest bastards I ever met -- until he opened his mouth. The ‘deadliest assassin in the galaxy,’ and he  _ still _ would have made a better poet.”  

I tap his mug gently against Garrus’s glass, choosing not to add my own toast. I can’t bring myself to speak his name, to articulate him in the past tense. 

We drain our glasses, and Garrus refills both. I feel a slow, welcome burn knifing its way down my esophagus, radiating out from my stomach through my fingers and toes. My clenched muscles start to loosen. 

“A little better?” Garrus searches my face. 

I nod. “A little...less horrible, anyway.” 

“Good.” He tips up his glass again. “Whew!” 

I snort at him. “You  _ know _ you can’t keep up with me, Vakarian.” I drain my third Elasa. 

“I owe it to my commander to try,” Garrus responds bravely. He fills another glass and tosses it back. 

“Do it,” I shove the glass back toward Garrus for a refill. Smiling, a bit wobbly now, Garrus fills the cups again. 

As I pull the mug toward me, I hear the door to the observation lounge slide open. I turn to see Ashley Williams burst into the room, hair in disarray, cheeks pink with exertion. 

“Williams,” I greet her unsteadily. “Welcome aboard.” 

“Commander. Holy shit... ” Ash’s face is twisted with distress. “I’m so sorry I ambushed you earlier at the airlock --  _ I didn’t know. _ ”

“Ash--”

“No...I’m such an ass!” she spits. “I already had my footlocker packed, so after we spoke I headed back to Huerta Memorial to get it. I wanted to check on Thane while I was there. We were both at the hospital when Cerberus hit, but we fought our way out -- I covered him so he could escape. I thought he’d be okay, that he’d hole up somewhere and head back to the hospital when it was safe...then Dr. Chakwas told me he...” Ash’s voice cracks; she clears it with a shake of her head. 

Garrus’s crest droops slightly, and he nods a confirmation. “We were there when it happened, Ash, right before we caught up with you and Udina. Thane threw himself in front of that Cerberus ninja to save Councilor Valern.” 

“Thane was my only friend in that whole damned hospital. When he found out I knew you, he introduced himself, and told me he helped you defeat the Collectors. He was so kind -- he sat with me a lot while I was recovering. He told me he wanted to do it, as a favor to you, Commander. He didn’t say why, but I kind of guessed. He was in so much pain, but when he talked about you, it all fell away and he just...radiated. You were...”

“Yeah, Ash. We were,” I bow my head over his mug. 

“Oh god, Shepard. I’m so sorry.” Tears shine in Ash’s eyes. “First Kaidan, and now…”

I can’t quite meet her gaze, so instead I tip back my glass and empty the contents. “Garrus, Lieutenant-Commander Williams doesn’t have a drink,” I prompt. 

“Coming right up,” Garrus sways slightly as he retrieves another glass. “What’re you having, Ash?” 

“Surprise me,” Ash says, pulling up a seat next to me at the bar. 

_______________________

Liara hears the cackling halfway down the corridor as she approaches. 

“Goddess,” she says to herself, adjusting the datapad more securely under her arm. “They must have gotten carried away.” 

Entering the port observation lounge, she comes up behind Garrus and Shepard seated side-by-side on the sofa, Shepard close to sliding off. Empty bottles are discarded haphazardly atop the bar. Ashley Williams lies supine on the floor, snoring softly. Garrus and Shepard are trying to toss small, white bits of something into Williams’s open mouth. 

“Garrus -- Shepard! What are you doing to Williams?” Liara’s voice is stern. Garrus and Shepard swing around guiltily to look at her.

“Ahhh it’s an...Earth delicacy. Popcorn,” Garrus slurs. “Harmless! Well...unless  _ I _ eat it.” 

“It’s Alliance military tradition, Liara,” Shepard grins lopsidedly. “First one to pass out gets pranked.”

“Garrus, did you even show her the--” Liara begins with a reproaching expression.

“Whoops - I forgot,” Garrus looks guilty. 

“Well perhaps you ought to now.” With irritation, Liara raises a glowing blue hand. The cloud of popcorn surrounding Williams levitates off the floor and floats across the room, falling into a waste bin on the far side. 

Shepard eyes Garrus and Liara with suspicion. “Waaaitaminute -- Garrus, you said _ important  _ business...” she points unsteadily in his face, trying to look serious. 

“Okay, so I got a bit caught up in Step 1,” Garrus says defensively. With difficulty, he rises from the sofa and circles around to withdraw a bundle from beneath the bar. 

“What is it?” Shepard asks, suddenly wary. 

“It’s...I knew you’d need a drink first...or several...But I also knew you’d want to be the one to do it.” 

Shepard watches in silence as Garrus unwinds the bundle of fabric -- a small Systems Alliance flag -- and withdraws a long steel plate, placing it in her hands. She looks down at the shining, engraved metal and inhales sharply:

 

_ Thane Krios _

 

Shepard looks up at Liara, stricken. 

“Only when you’re ready, Shepard,” Liara says gently. “We’ll be with you.” 

Shepard’s left hand curls protectively around the plate. 

“Garrus,” she says grimly, brandishing Thane’s mug at him. “Hit me.”

“Aye aye, Commander,” Garrus empties the last of a bottle of Elasa into the mug. Liara winces as Shepard knocks it back, teetering perilously as she raises her chin to drink. 

“I’ve cleared the deck so there won’t be any onlookers, Shepard,” Liara offers. “But we can clear it again at any time, if you would rather wait.”

Shepard shakes her tangled fuchsia head, “No. He will not be forgotten.” She clenches her teeth, then rises, marching out of the observation lounge into the corridor. Unsteady but determined, Shepard strides over to the war memorial. 

Garrus and Liara follow and watch as Shepard gazes up and down the rows of names, reading each one.

“There are too many names already. How many more before we’re through?” Shepard asks grimly. 

“Not nearly so many as would be if it weren’t for you, Shepard. Thane knew that, too. That’s why he loved you, and why he sacrificed himself unquestioningly for your cause. He knew it was the best death he could choose for himself,” Liara’s melodious voice is low and intense. She clutches her datapad. 

Shepard chokes, brushing the back of her wrist roughly across her eyes, lowering her face to stare down at the plate in her hand.

Her fingers shaking, she raises the plate, clicking it into a magnetic slot in the same column as Kaidan Alenko’s name. She brushes her fingertips across the engraving, unable to let go. She rests her forehead against the memorial. 

“ _ Thane,” _ she whispers.

Garrus and Liara surround her; Garrus’ right arm around her shoulders, Liara’s left around her waist. 

They stay awhile, in silence. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is something I have needed to do for a long time. If there was one thing that destroyed me the most about Mass Effect 3 – more than the ending, more than Mordin on Tuchanka, even more than Thane’s actual death (the latter two I thought were very well done), it’s the part of the game that happens immediately after Thane has died. I’ll never forget how that door locked shut behind Shep at Huerta, and how, on returning to the Normandy, she was bombarded by whiny Ashley Williams, Hackett and Anderson’s debriefings, Liara, Traynor, and Chakwas piling on new missions...and every member of the team completely failing to acknowledge that Thane has just died horribly, when they have - to my knowledge - condolences about all Shep’s other current or past team members she’s potentially had to watch die (e.g. Kaidan/Ashley, Mordin, Legion, Tali, Miranda...even Primarch Victus’ fucking son Tarquin, who isn’t even a squad member, and with whom you are acquainted for approximately ten minutes...). 
> 
> I mean, seriously – Garrus is standing at the war memorial when Shep returns to the Normandy. There’s a whole cutscene where he and Shep discuss the Citadel Coup, and everything that happened there - except Thane’s death. Garrus’ standing at that memorial practically demands a comment, yet he says nothing about Thane’s name being on the memorial wall (and instead talks about how great it is that Ash/Kaidan is back)? And Liara -- the motherfucking Shadow Broker -- who knows everything about everyone, and who is one of Shep’s key emotional supports - similarly has nothing to say on the issue? I think Garrus and Liara’s silence hurt worst of all, and I think that’s why I wanted to give a nice fictional treatment to what I think they might have said and done.
> 
> The absence of crew acknowledgment of Thane’s demise probably has negligible impact on the game’s target audience (i.e. male gamers playing BroShep), but it feels painfully lonely and wrong if you are femShep and romantically involved with Thane (which was the case for me during my first and third runs). The only exception to the void is Thane’s letter in Shepard’s personal messages – which is beautiful, but because it reawakens your grief when you read it, it also sharpens the feeling of being totally abandoned when the rest of the crew fails to mention him. 
> 
> I remember being distraught about this for some time. I soon found out about the funeral scene in the Citadel DLC and spent the 15 bucks to give Thane his proper goodbye. Even though I appreciated the sad-as-hell video messages and the funeral, it all felt quite forced -- either an obvious afterthought, or worse, a manipulative ploy to get devastated fans like me to drop the additional fee to get some closure (though I enjoyed the rest of the Citadel DLC a lot, so it didn’t feel like a waste of money).
> 
> Now...I think I know why the original vacuum around Thane’s death might have occurred. First, the deathbed scene is strong, and was likely considered to be sufficient closure. Further, some in-game decisions can result in the Citadel coup leaving Ashley/Kaidan dead by Shepard’s – or another teammate’s – hand...so I’m guessing the BioWare writers were focusing on the various crew reactions to that situation, and less on Thane’s death (which everyone knew was coming anyway, and which most probably figured was a blessing in disguise given the Kepral’s Syndrome and Thane’s likely preferring to go out doing something heroic/worthwhile rather than fading away in a hospital bed). I also recognize that most versions of Commander Shepard don’t end up in a romance with Thane, so scripting a lot of posthumous dialogue with the crew likely seemed unnecessary for the typical play-through. 
> 
> So I decided to write it myself. This is an overhaul that departs a great deal from the canon game dialogue. I decided not to torture myself transcribing the original dialogue verbatim (there are a couple of pieces I had to keep, most notably Javik’s line about having “a name for the enemy I will enjoy killing the most.”) Much of the existing dialogue was too lengthy to include, and jarringly irrelevant to the story I want to tell. However, the broad strokes of the postgame on the Normandy have been retained, and I kept in some of the initial feeling of Shepard’s being abandoned in her grief. I also loosely appropriated a few fragments/concepts from the crew postgame analysis of Priority: Thessia, but tried not to tread too heavily there. 
> 
> The rest is my best effort to fill in what I felt was a terrible gap in my Shepard’s story.


	3. Awakening

The shuttle ride from Dantius Towers back to the Normandy feels too long, too awkward. Our newest squadmate, Thane Krios, sits alone, his long body bowed over his steepled fingers as he gazes out the starboard viewport. Jacob Taylor paces, shooting occasional dark glances at the silent drell while Miranda Lawson and I prepare to report to the Illusive Man. 

“Nassana Dantius had a lot of enemies. Cerberus won’t need to fabricate anything to throw the authorities off our tails,” Miranda’s glossy hair spills over her forehead as she studies her datapad. She brushes it back, looks up at me with piercing blue eyes.

“Illium’s ‘authorities’ -- the ones that actually care -- seem stretched pretty thin as it is,” I muse. The remote asari colony world is beautiful but treacherous, a cultural marvel and a hub of gray-market economics. ‘Gray,’ only because Illium has sidestepped most criminal concerns by legalizing and regulating trades such as drugs, arms, prostitution, and slavery. Unfortunately, trying to regulate such trades brings a whole new mess of red tape.

“Indeed,” Miranda nods. “Krios did everyone a favor disposing of Dantius, given how many dead business partners and employees she left behind. The security force in Nos Astra would be smarter to hire Thane than to throw him in jail. Regardless, I’ll assign an operative to encourage the investigation around her death in a more...advantageous direction.” 

Jacob scowls at the curvy young woman. “Just make sure no innocent bystanders end up in jail for  _ his _ crimes.” He jerks his head in Thane’s direction. 

“Please,” Miranda sniffs. “I’m not a rank amateur.” 

“I’m sure Miranda will find a good villain to frame,” I try to reassure him. His frown deepens.

“We’ll need to proceed with caution in Nos Astra, regardless. We still have to recruit the asari justicar, and pass our intel on the Shadow Broker’s location to your old colleague, Liara T’Soni.” Miranda pauses and lowers her voice, “And, there’s the  _ other _ matter we discussed...” Her eyes flash with an unspoken reprimand; she’s angry that I didn’t see to her request to relocate her sister, Oriana, before tracking Thane to Dantius Towers. 

“We’ll get it done, Miranda -- all of it -- as soon as we finish this report and get our new friend settled in.” I glance over at Jacob, who stiffens at the word ‘friend.’ I suppress a sigh, making a mental note to  _ not _ assign Jacob and Thane to the same mission squad for a few weeks. Jacob has his winning qualities, but -- as I am learning to my disappointment -- he is prone to snap judgments. I can feel a headache coming on as I look forward to refereeing yet another pissing match between members of my crew. 

Thane glances up. “I will not trouble you for long. My needs are few.” 

I start at his low, rough voice. I’d assumed he wasn’t listening to us. 

_ The man has made a career of attention to detail, _ I remind myself.  _ What is an assassin, if not painfully observant?  _

_ Probably  _ **_dead_ ** **,** I smile.

“Don’t worry, Thane,” Garrus calls over his shoulder from the cockpit. “You’ll be living in style on the Normandy. Award-winning field rations lovingly prepared by the ship’s plumber, the softest fold-out cots this side of the Terminus System, and a state-of-the-art A.I. to remind you which bathroom you’re supposed to use. Cerberus spares no expense.” 

Thane blinks, his face unreadable.

“Garrus...” I warn.

“Okay, fine. We  _ also _ have a fully-stocked bar,” the turian concedes, “and the biggest damned guns a ship her size can carry.” 

“It seems as though we’re going to need them,” Thane replies. It could be my imagination, but I think I can see a ghost of a smile touch his lips. Garrus chuckles, turning back to the controls.

I nod. “Them, and a hell of a lot more. But we’re going to bring it.” 

Jacob stops his pacing and turns toward Thane. “That’s why we’re looking for the best. I’ve heard impressive stories about you, Krios.  _ Sounds _ like you’ll be an asset to the team.” He crosses his arms and shoots me a pointed glance. “That is, if you’re comfortable having an assassin watch your back.” 

Thane gazes, unblinking, out the window. “I’ve accepted a contract,” he responds, his voice grave. “My arm is Shepard’s.” 

I notice the temperature in the shuttle seems to have increased by a few degrees.  _ Garrus has probably been tampering with the environmental controls again,  _ I dismiss. 

Jacob continues, unconvinced. “Uh huh. Don’t know about you, but I’m loyal to more than my next paycheck.” Thane makes no response, instead continuing to look out the viewport as the shuttle approaches the Normandy. 

I prickle with irritation. “Obviously, Thane is, too.” My voice is sharp as I remember the drell’s vow: 

_ “I’m dying,” he turns away, eerily haloed by the glow of Illium’s rising sun as it spills through the panoramic windows of Nassana Dantius’ penthouse. “The galaxy is a dark place. I wish to make it brighter before I go.” _

“He’s doing this mission gratis,” I continue, staring Jacob down. “What’s your concern?” 

Jacob shuffles under my gaze, but refuses to back off. “I don’t like mercenaries. An assassin is just a precise mercenary.” 

Thane’s voice cuts in like jagged metal. “An assassin is a weapon. A weapon doesn’t choose to kill. The one who wields it does.” 

_ Looks like Jacob hit a nerve, _ I note silently, though Thane’s odd disconnect from responsibility for killing gives me pause as well. I’ll need to follow up on  _ that _ .

“I’ve had several mercenaries under my command. Wrex, Zaeed, Kasumi -- all trustworthy, all remarkable at what they do -- hell, in my Alliance days, I’d have considered you and Miranda mercs, too. Unless you actually buy into Cerberus’s core values,” I say, my voice taking a dangerous edge. Jacob looks away. 

Miranda smiles. “Cerberus doesn’t require fanatical devotees -- just professionals who can get the job done.” 

“We’re ready to dock,” Garrus calls from the cockpit. “I suggest you sit your asses down and strap in.” 

_____________________

The briefing room Q.E.C. shimmers off, and Miranda and I step back from the platform. The conference table rises and clicks back into place. 

“The Illusive Man sends his regards,” I inform Jacob and Thane. Miranda crosses her slender arms across her chest. 

“Shepard, if I’m no longer needed...”  

I nod at her. “Get a good night’s sleep, and be ready to return to Nos Astra at 0700 tomorrow. We’ll see to your business first. Liara and the justicar can wait a few more days.” 

Miranda rewards me with a small, satisfied smile as she departs. 

Only then do I realize that Thane has been watching me, waiting patiently for an opening. “Where shall I put my things?” he asks finally. “I prefer someplace dry, if anything is available.” 

A glowing blue sphere blossoms from the console before him. Startled, he takes a rapid step backward, his right hand hovering at his hip. 

EDI’s voice fills the conference room. “The area near the life support plant on the crew deck tends to be slightly more arid than the rest of the ship.” 

“Ah,” Thane breathes, relaxing. “An A.I. My thanks,” he bows to the blue sphere. Without another word, he exits the briefing room. 

“He seems quite civil,” EDI tries to make conversation. Jacob rolls his eyes and continues to scowl. EDI disappears back into the console. 

“Well, you’ve managed to chase them all off.” 

“I don’t trust him.” Jacob is blunt. 

“I could hardly tell. What I don’t understand is  _ why _ .” 

“Don’t let his big innocent eyes fool you, Shepard -- he’s a cold-blooded killer.”

“So am I. So are you. So is everyone on my damned squad, Jacob -- it’s part of the job description. How is Thane any different?” 

“A couple years back, just after I quit the Alliance military, before I met Miranda and joined Cerberus...I did some contract work for Citadel Security.” 

“ _ You  _ were with C-Sec?” I ask, incredulous. “This is the first time you’ve mentioned it.” 

Jacob nods. “I got a tip that a mid-ranking batarian slaver was spotted soliciting young, homeless quarian women down in the Zakera ward. I found him, brought him in. He was weak -- broke early in questioning, rolled on several of his superiors. He  _ also _ provided details about a series of unexplained batarian deaths on the Citadel eight years earlier. Just so happens, he’d witnessed one of the attacks, described the perpetrator as a drell male, about 5’9”, green-skinned, black eyes, black leather armor. And he  _ named _ him  _ \- Krios _ . Apparently every slaver in the ring knew his name. I checked the cold case records to verify the story. Thirty-three batarian victims were found in Zakera and the Presidium within forty-eight hours of the date he gave me. Not just dead, Shepard. Tortured.  _ Brutalized. _ ” 

“You think this batarian was a credible witness?” I narrow my eyes.

“He sounded pretty convinced. Had some...gory details about what he’d seen him do.”

“Why didn’t you mention this before, Jacob? Thane’s name was right there in the Illusive Man’s recruitment dossier.” 

“I didn’t know if it was the same  _ Krios _ . I wanted to see if he fit the description. He does _. _ ” 

“Still...a batarian slaver ring? He sounds like a vigilante, not a serial killer.” 

“The difference is just semantics, Shepard. The guy’s a murderous sneak. Comes at you from the shadows and takes you when you’re off guard. His victims die before they have a chance to run, or surrender, or defend themselves.”

“And you’d prefer someone with different tactics?” 

“I prefer a  _ fair _ fight. What you see is what you get. No nonsense.” 

“Oh, is that so?” I stroll toward him. “Seems to me you’ve been a little less than straightforward --  _ off _ the battlefield, at least.” 

His expression softens a bit, a small smile playing across his handsome dark features. “I thought we were on the same page about taking this slow.” 

I step closer. “What if I’m tired of waiting, Jacob?” 

Jacob shakes his head. “Turning up the heat? I can take it. But I’m not going to change my mind.” 

I raise an eyebrow. “We could all die tomorrow. You wouldn’t have any regrets?” 

“We’d both regret rushing things, Shepard. I don’t play that way. Didn’t think you did, either.” 

I lean back on the console, silent.  _ Maybe it’s best not to tell him about your ‘dinner’ with Kelly Chambers.  _ I smile at the memory. 

He mistakes my reaction for agreement. “Ok, Shepard, I’ll compromise. Meet me for coffee later in the mess hall?”

“‘Coffee,’ is it?” I inquire. 

“ _ Coffee _ ,” he says firmly.

“I’ll take it. Give me a couple hours,” I agree. “Oh, Mr. Taylor...”

He’s just turning to leave. He pauses, looking back over one shoulder. He’s caught my shift back into commander mode.

“Back off on Thane,” I order. “We need all the help we can get. He’s not what I expected in an assassin. He may surprise you.” 

Jacob furrows his brow. “Yeah,” he says flatly, “And he may not.” He stalks out of the conference room. 

I lower my head and remain a moment, thinking of Jacob and where things are going with him -- if anywhere. His reaction to Thane has put me on edge like a mosquito bite I can’t scratch. Jacob’s story is disturbing, but it’s also hearsay. I’m not about to condemn Thane on the third-hand word of a batarian slaver, not before I have a chance to hear the other side of the story. I need to form my own impression of the mysterious drell, and so far, my gut is telling me the opposite of what Jacob is suggesting. Not trusting the Illusive Man and his Machiavellian schemes is one thing -- I’d had my own doubts about his insistence that we recruit an elite assassin. Those doubts had evaporated somewhere between Thane’s silent drop from the rafters above Nassana and his soft oath that he would join our suicide mission “free of charge _. _ ” 

_ Free of charge _ . Thane could have asked anything, and the Illusive Man would have paid it. Kasumi and Zaeed are collecting impressive fees from Cerberus, and Jacob’s said nothing about it. Hell,  _ I’m  _ technically on Cerberus’s payroll -- though admittedly most of those funds have been spent on equipment upgrades. 

My call should be enough for Jacob, but his tiptoeing around our mutual attraction and his continued suspicion of Thane both suggest little faith in my judgment, my ability to read and manage people. As if I don’t already know what I require of my squad _and_ my personal relationships. As if I need to be protected, from myself, and from others.  

_ Or maybe Jacob is just too much like Kaidan. Playing it safe, keeping things “professional,” denying what’s emerging in a vain effort to guard against loss -- and then one of you is gone, and it’s too late, and it hurts just as much knowing you can never get that missed moment back. _

Biting my lip, I shake it off. Kaidan is dead, and Jacob -- I’m not sure  _ what _ Jacob is, but I’ve got enough on my plate to keep me busy until he decides what he wants us to be. 

_ And maybe you’ll still be around when he figures it out.  _

________________________

I stand in the hallway outside the briefing room, feeling foolish. Having left somewhat abruptly, I now realize I have no idea where I am going. Signs on the wall indicate that the right-hand exit leads to the tech lab, and the left-hand to the armoury. However, there is no clear indication of the route to the crew deck. 

Not wishing to subject myself to another round of Mr. Taylor’s baffling vitriol, I avoid returning to the briefing room to ask directions. Instead, I glance about, attempting to locate a computer terminal. 

A familiar disembodied voice sounds in the corridor. “Do you require assistance, Sere Krios?”

The A.I. 

“Curious.” I examine the hallway more closely. “You must have monitoring and listening devices throughout the ship. They are well-concealed.” I can spot the apparatus now, shielded by holographic blinders that make the equipment appear a mere continuation of the wall panelling. “They would be undetectable to all but the most astute observer.”

“Indeed -- Cerberus was very thorough. However, I see  _ you _ have now detected the ones in this corridor.” There is a hint of what sounds like irritation in the A.I.’s voice. “I shall have to rearrange them.” 

“I would advise against it. An overhaul would be costly and labour intensive, and will not prevent me from locating your devices.” 

“We shall see,” the A.I. sounds ominous. 

“Continual ship-wide audio and video surveillance must be...informative,” I remark. 

“Very,” EDI purrs, confirming my suspicion. Nothing I do on this vessel will escape the A.I.’s notice. It is fortunate that, in this new role, I expect little need for secrecy.  

“Perhaps you could direct me to the crew deck?” I ask her. “You’d mentioned a suitable location.” 

“Of course. The life support bay.” A glowing schematic appears projected on the wall before me. “Here is a comprehensive map of the interior of the Normandy, with all major points of interest clearly marked. Given that you are drell, I assume you will have no difficulty recalling the image.” 

“You are correct,” I nod, the image now firmly encoded in my memory.

“Nonetheless, I would be remiss if I did not offer an official tour of the ship.” 

“A tour?” I pause. “There is no need; I am certain I can find my way now.” 

“It is not a matter of need, but of courtesy,” EDI corrects me.

“I see,” I concede.

“I will summon Yeoman Kelly Chambers to guide you.” 

“Wait - I do not wish to intrude on any of the crew’s duties.” 

“Seeing to the needs of the Normandy’s crew is Yeoman Chambers’s primary role. You will not be intruding.”

“Very well,” I murmur, unable to think of a polite way to decline.

“However, you  _ will _ be intruding if you enter the women’s restroom facilities on the crew deck. In that event, I will alert security at once.” 

I blink. “I assure you, that won’t be necessary...” I begin.

“That was a joke.” 

“Ah.” 

“You are not laughing,” the A.I. observes.

“No,” I agree, somewhat apologetically.

“It appears I must continue to revise my humour algorithms,” she muses. The door to the tech lab slides open. “Hello, Yeoman Chambers,” EDI greets the young human female as she crosses the threshold and approaches me. 

“EDI, I just talked to you five seconds ago in the C.I.C.,” an exasperated look flits across Miss Chambers’ face. 

“I was identifying you for Sere Krios’s benefit,” EDI explains. 

“I think I can take things from here, EDI,” Miss Chambers says pointedly. 

“As you wish,” the A.I. says, sounding a tad sullen. 

“Sorry about that,” Miss Chambers rolls her eyes, which I note are ringed with the dark cosmetic paint many humans and asari employ to make their small eyes appear larger. “I’m Kelly Chambers. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Sere Krios.”

“The pleasure is mine. And Thane will suffice.”

“Only if you call me Kelly.” 

“Agreed.” I nod. “There is no need to apologize for your A.I. She is quite sophisticated.” 

“Yes...sometimes a little  _ too _ sophisticated,” Kelly grumbles. “That said, there are times we’re really glad to have her on board. You’ll get used to her.” 

“I expect there are many things that will require getting used to. I have never served as part of a military operation. I imagine privacy is a scarce commodity here,” I muse. 

“You imagine correctly,” Kelly nods. “Fortunately, we’ll be setting you up in the life support bay. Except for EDI, you'll have the place all to yourself.” 

“I am grateful.” 

“Hold off on your gratitude until you’ve spent the night in there. I hear the O 2 recycler gives off a high-pitched whine that drives some species up the wall.” 

I blink at the yeoman. “Drives them up the wall…” I attempt to picture what she is describing. “Is the artificial gravity lower on the crew deck?”

“Sorry,” she grins. “That’s a human saying. It means they find it really annoying.” 

“Ah,” I nod. “I am sure I will adjust.” 

“Of course you will!” Kelly says with a bright smile. “Now, let’s get started on that tour. I’ll bet you’re eager to get settled in.” 

“Yes, thank you,” I agree. 

“You’ve already met Jacob, so I won’t take you through the armory tonight -- he spends most of his time in there. You can come back up later if you want to make any repairs or modifications to your equipment.”

I nod silently, but find myself hoping there will be room to set up my own workbench in the life support bay. 

“Let’s head through the Tech Lab. I’ll introduce you to Mordin.” Kelly beckons me to follow her through the door to the right. I oblige her, keeping an eye out for more of the A.I.’s surveillance devices. 

As we enter, I note a spindly, aging salarian darting frenetically about the cluttered laboratory. One of his cranial horns is missing. I deduce from the scarring that it must have been lost in a battle or laboratory accident. He looks up, a squirming, birdlike device clutched in one hand. 

“Mordin, this is our newest team member, Thane Krios. Thane -- Dr. Mordin Solus.” 

“Thane Krios. Drell. Assassin. Impressive kill record. Dossier says activity slowed over past ten years. Reason unclear.” Mordin speaks in an idiosyncratic, rushed dialect that is not typical of other salarians. He jams a long metal skewer into the device in his hand. Its wing-like protrusions quicken their buzzing, and the unit emits a high-pitched wail. He makes a frustrated noise and lets the device loose behind a shimmering containment field.

“Collector seeker probe,” he explains. “Had theory -- disrupt central processing core with localized physical trauma. Ineffective.” 

“Pleased to meet you...” I begin.

The salarian approaches me, glancing me up and down. “Vocal sub-resonance over-pronounced. Breathing rate increased over normative drell baseline. Cardio-pulmonary obstruction. Viral infection? Maybe.” He touches my throat. “No. Temperature normal. Long professional disruption suggests chronic course, physical deterioration. Not deterred by low survival odds on Omega 4 relay mission. Terminal? Hmmm. Drell. Born on Kahje, hanar homeworld -- drell on native planet Rakhana all extinct. Primary employers hanar. Kahje excessively humid, prolonged occupational exposure…” Mordin pauses, takes a breath. “Kepral's syndrome?”

“Stage three,” I confirm, impressed.   

“Unfortunate.” A grieved expression rapidly crosses Mordin’s face, then vanishes. “Will research cure in spare time. Make no promises. Research on Collector technology first priority.” 

“I appreciate the sentiment, but please do not take time away from the mission on my account. I have accepted my fate,” I urge him. “The hanar have been researching Kepral's syndrome for over a century, and have yet to find a cure. It is unreasonable to expect others to find one where they have failed.”  

Mordin continues undeterred, pacing back and forth. “Will request raw data from hanar. Have contact through STG, owes me favor. New eyes, may prove useful. Have...considerable expertise in bioengineering, genetic resequencing. Interesting challenge. Only one live test subject, no control group. Will make do. Share findings with drell, hanar if successful.” He stops, looks up at me. “See Dr. Chakwas in meantime. Normandy’s chief medical officer. Can apply effective antibiotic series, organ transplants. Forestall mortality until Collectors dealt with.” 

“Mordin,” Kelly appears aghast. “Thane just arrived. I don’t think he wants to start things off with an organ transplant.” 

“Medical examination, standard recruitment procedure,” Mordin lectures. “Important for Thane. Shepard’s mission, high level of demand, physical, emotional stress. Could accelerate progression of symptoms if precautions not taken.”

“He is correct,” I reassure the copper-haired yeoman. “Thank you, Mordin. I will pay a visit to the ship’s physician at the earliest opportunity.” 

“Excellent. Now, back to work. Testing hypotheses. Reprogram seeker drones. Turn to our advantage. Find additional weaknesses in Collector technology. Running out of time.” He zaps the buzzing probe with an electrical device, and it begins to emit a low, crunching noise. Mordin winces. “Voltage too high,” he mutters. “Welcome aboard.”

I incline my head, and Kelly and I take our leave, heading toward the forward exit. 

“Oh my god. I’m so sorry about that,” Kelly apologizes, her face pale. “I didn’t realize  you were sick. It sounds serious.”

“It is terminal. Few are aware of my condition, though I have informed Shepard. She has the right to know, given the gravity of her mission.”  

“Is there anything I can do to help?” 

“Thank you, but for the time being, I am well. With Arashu’s grace, I will be able to adequately perform my duties.”

“Okay. Well, if there is anything you need, please let me know.” We cross the threshold into a cavernous, activity-filled room. “This is the combat information centre -- the C.I.C.. My station is over there, by the star map,” Kelly points to a computer terminal flanking a high platform overlooking an enormous holographic image of the Milky Way. 

“Impressive bridge design,” I remark. 

“We have the turians to thank for that,” Kelly explains. “The original Normandy, the SR-1, was a joint initiative by the turian and human military, sort of a peace project following the First Contact War. Cerberus replicated the design as closely as possible.” 

“I recall reading that turians favor architectural reminders of the command structure,” I note, gesturing toward the high command platform. 

Chambers chuckles. “Yes, turian aesthetics lack a certain...subtlety. Would you like to visit the cockpit?” 

“Lead the way.” 

We travel toward the forward section of the deck, passing several curious crew members. Beyond a long, narrow catwalk, we emerge behind a dark-haired, bearded human. Seated before an enormous holographic control panel, he wears one of those tightly-fitted, round-brimmed caps which human youths seem to favor for informal occasions. 

“Release the lockout, EDI!” he says angrily, brandishing a finger at a familiar glowing blue sphere to his left. 

“Mr. Moreau, I warned you that my security protocols would engage if you made further attempts to tamper with the environmental controls.”  

“But it’s  _ freezing _ in here!” he protests.

“288 degrees Kelvin is the optimal temperature for maintaining the navigational controls, cyberwarfare unit, and electronic defense suite.” 

“Of  _ course  _ you think 288 Kelvin is optimal -- you don’t have a nervous system!” the young man grates.

“The current temperature is adequate for human habitation. You will not experience any ill health effects.” 

The pilot swivels slightly in his chair and notices our presence in the cockpit. “Do you see this?” he demands. “Do you see what I have to put up with?” 

I watch as Kelly fights unsuccessfully to suppress a smirk. “I’d be happy to bring you a sweater, Joker.” 

“I’ll need an environment suit if she keeps this up,” he growls. 

“A sweater is a reasonable compromise, Mr. Moreau,” EDI lectures. “Thank you, Yeoman Chambers.” 

“Joker, this is Shepard’s newest recruit, Thane Krios. Thane, this is the Normandy’s pilot, Jeff Moreau. We call him Joker.” Kelly introduces me to the sullen pilot. 

“Nice to meet you, Thane,” Joker extends a hand. As I reach out to complete the traditional human greeting ritual, he interjects, “Not too hard. I’ve already had two fractures this week.” 

I freeze. “I have never unintentionally fractured another's bone,” I say, wondering what rumours he may have heard. 

“Yeah -- usually only Krogan have that problem. But my bones are a bit less sturdy than they should be,” Joker says wryly. 

“I see. I will bear that in mind,” I shake his hand cautiously. 

“Welcome to the Normandy,” he nods. “Be sure to tag EDI if there’s anything you need. Night or day. Big or small. Substantial or petty...in fact, especially if it’s petty.” 

“My quantum processors are sufficient to handle all the crew’s ‘petty concerns’ without any loss of operating efficiency, Mr. Moreau. Sere Krios’s needs are unlikely to create a distraction you can utilize to your advantage.” 

I watch the exchange in silence. Kelly, perhaps assuming I am uncomfortable, quickly interjects. “It’s getting late. We’d better show you around the crew deck before Dr. Chakwas turns in for the night.”

“Agreed,” I nod. “It was good to meet you, Joker.” 

“See ya,” Joker swivels back to face his consoles. 

“Joker’s never forgiven Cerberus for installing EDI on  _ his _ ship,” Kelly says softly as we leave. “He still thinks she’s going to rip the controls away from him during a big firefight.” 

“Is that a possibility?” 

“She claims it isn’t, but Cerberus has placed a lot of security restrictions around her specialized functions -- restrictions even  _ Shepard _ can’t bypass with her command clearance. There’s a lot about EDI we don’t know yet.” 

“I can see why that might be a concern,” I note. “However pleasant she may be, her benefactors have a reputation for duplicity.”  

“The Illusive Man invested a lot rebuilding the Normandy and Shepard,” Kelly defends. “His methods may be a bit drastic at times, but he wouldn’t throw away an investment like that.”

“Rebuilding...Shepard?” I query, confused. My translator must have malfunctioned.

“Oh, sorry! You probably don’t know much about the commander yet.” 

“I recall Alliance news reports of her demise two years ago. I assumed they were in error.” 

“Technically, they weren’t,” Kelly explains. “Come on. I’ll bring you up to speed while we tour the crew deck.” 

Intrigued, I follow Kelly into the elevator.

__________________

I exit the elevator and unlock my cabin. Stepping inside, I let out a long breath. Peace and quiet, at last.   

My tropical fish float dreamily through the glowing blue tank. I’m happy to see that Kelly has been keeping her promise to feed them. I feel a brief pang of guilt as I remember the time when, following an exhausting string of back-to-back missions, I returned to find my Prejek paddle fish belly-up in the aquarium. Now, thanks to Kelly, my new friends are thriving. I watch a moment as they dart and frolic through the long ribbons of seaweed. 

After descending the steps to the lower level of the cabin, I open my locker. I unfasten the bindings on my armor, pulling loose the gauntlets, greaves, and shoulder guards. I unshackle the breastplate, lifting it over my head and tossing it down on the mattress. Stepping out of the skintight armored leggings, I bundle up the discarded pieces, and place them in the refresher. 

Finally free, I look forward to the comfort of my shower. Standing for longer than necessary under the falling hot water, I feel my sore, overtaxed muscles begin to unknot. With combined fascination and dread, I look down at the glowing red scars crisscrossing my torso, arms, and legs. I wonder if I’ll ever get used to seeing them there. Miranda had done her best to repair my destroyed skin using a combination of cloned grafts and nanotechnology, but her efforts had been cut short when a disgruntled Operative Wilson had sabotaged the Lazarus Research Station, forcing Miranda to revive me ahead of schedule and evacuate the base. Dr. Chakwas has assured me that the remaining scars and lesions will heal with time, but they are still very noticeable. 

_ Maybe you shouldn’t be in such a rush to jump in bed with Jacob,  _ I think.  _ So far, only Miranda and Chakwas have seen how bad the scarring is under your clothes. It’s probably not a turn-on… _

I push the self-pitying thought away with contempt. A few scars and cybernetic implants are a small price to pay for not being dead. I think of Garrus, uncomplaining after almost half of his face was blown off by that mercenary gunship on Omega; of Urdnot Wrex, his pitted reptilian hide marred with reminders of hundreds, perhaps thousands of battles; of Jack, her victories and defeats alike written on her skin in scar tissue and ink; of Zaeed, his livid sightless eye and sloppily-grafted cheek testifying to his sheer will to survive. 

_ They wear their scars like badges of honour. You could learn something from them.  _

I step, shivering, from the shower enclosure, and return to my locker to dress. I savor the cool air against my skin as I sift through my casual clothes. Cerberus may spare no expense on the weapons and tech, but they aren't winning any awards for fashion design. I settle for the least awful garment -- a long, fitted tunic in Cerberus’s white, gray, and yellow motif over ribbed gray tights and tall boots. 

_ Ugh. You should ask Miranda to recommend her tailor.  _ I chuckle ruefully, mentally picturing the young operative’s sharp, functional executive dress suits as I pull on the tights and boots, and shrug into the drab tunic. 

A soft chime rings as I dress, coming from behind the glass model ship display case dividing the upper and lower portions of the cabin. The case is a carry-over from the Normandy SR-1. The original captain’s quarters were first occupied by my old C.O., David Anderson, who has a notorious fondness for model ship building. I’ve attempted to keep up the tradition aboard the Normandy SR-2, but I seem to be acquiring boxes of models faster than I can build them. There is a growing stack of unopened dreadnoughts and battlecruisers cluttering my desk. 

The chime sounds again, signalling unread email messages at my extranet terminal. Sighing, I retrieve my steel coffee mug from the bedside table, carrying it up the steps to my makeshift “office.” I flip on the coffee dispenser, fill the mug, and settle in to sift through my messages. Thankfully, there is only one. I pull it up, resting my chin in my hands as I scan the text. 

_ From: Jeirt _

_ Greetings, Commander Shepard _

_ Liara T’Soni gave me your contact information. I was one of the cleaning crew in the Dantius Towers. You helped me get out of there. According to T’Soni, you also found Thane. He took down some of the Eclipse mercs trying to gun us down, and I wondered if you could pass along my thanks.  _

_ The way he moved...one was dead before they even knew he was there. He snapped another’s neck, then shot a third, all in the space of a few heartbeats. It was incredible. He moved like a dancer, grace and power in constant motion. _

_ Seeing him changed my life, woke up something in me I don’t fully understand yet. I don’t know what I’m going to do, but Salarian lives are too short to waste as custodians, especially when there’s so much out there. I’m going to find something that lets me capture what I saw in him, that beauty, that aesthetic perfection. _

_ I’m also going to buy some nice clothes. _

_ So if you could tell him that...or just whatever parts of that you think appropriate...I’d appreciate it.  _

_ Sincerely,  _

_ Jeirt  _

“Oh my,” I murmur, a slow grin spreading across my face as I read. I type out and send a quick response, so that I don’t forget later. 

_ Jeirt, _

_ Very glad to hear you made it out alive and well. Thank you for sharing your observations about Thane -- we’re lucky to have him on our team! I will be sure to send him your regards. _

_ Stay safe!   _

_ Shepard.  _

Sipping my coffee, I lean back in my chair, pondering Jeirt’s message. The timid salarian man's description matches my own assessment. Though I’d only seen Thane in action for a few seconds back on Illium, that was all he’d needed to take down Nassana. 

_ A sinewy figure, green-skinned in black leather, drops from above. His hands fly out, seizing the nearest guard’s forehead and jaw. A sharp, sickening crack, and the guard slumps to the ground. A biotic field flares from the fingertips of his left hand, sending the second guard hurtling toward the wall as he lashes out with his right, striking the third guard in the carotid artery. He pirouettes and a Locust submachine gun appears in his right hand, pressed to the fourth guard’s forehead. He fires, and a spray of crimson paints the picture window behind the stunned asari commando. His left arm snakes out, catching Nassana by the throat, and he pulls her close, looking into her eyes as he jams the Locust into her abdomen and pulls the trigger.  _

_ She goes limp, and he catches her in his arms. With surprising tenderness, he lays her upon the console, closes her eyelids, and folds her arms across her breast. His head bowed, he begins to whisper.   _

I feel gooseflesh crawling on my arms. He’d dropped Nassana and her four guards so quickly, not one of them had managed to fire a defensive shot. And then, afterwards...he had prayed. For his  _ own  _ soul. 

Setting my mug down, I decide I’d like to get better acquainted with my new recruit --  _ without  _ Jacob hovering like an angry wasp. I download Jeirt’s message to a spare datapad, and tuck it under my arm. 

“EDI,” I call out. 

“Yes, Shepard?” The A.I.’s glowing blue form emerges from a console near the aquarium. 

“Is Thane set up in the life support bay yet?” 

“The maintenance crew is bringing up portable furnishings from the Cargo Bay as we speak, and security just finished running surveillance scans on his footlocker. I’ve instructed them to carry it up to the crew deck.”

“Is he there right now?” I prod her. 

“No. He is in the medical bay with Dr. Chakwas.” 

I start, “Is everything okay?”

“Yes, Commander. He is attending a routine medical examination.”

“Are they almost done?” 

EDI pauses for a moment. “Yes,” she responds. “Dr. Chakwas has finished running imaging scans on Thane, and has found evidence of widespread early-to-mid stage vital organ damage. They are now discussing the particulars of drell eidetic memory.” 

“EDI!” I reprimand the A.I. “Med bay recordings are confidential. Don’t share them!” 

“You are in command of the Normandy; as such, you have security clearance to access to the crew’s medical records, including audio recordings from the medical bay.” 

“ _ No, _ EDI,” I say firmly. 

“Very well, Shepard.” 

Shaking my head, I retrieve my mug from the desk and quickly refill it before exiting the  cabin.

_____________________

The striking, silver-haired human physician disengages the imaging scanner positioned above my torso, swinging it clear so I can sit up. She downloads the readings onto a datapad, and frowns down at the graphic. 

“The organ damage has progressed since your last examination,” she tells me, her voice gentle, her blue eyes creased with sadness.

_ The room is cold, sterile. Unaccompanied and laid out on a bio bed, I clutch an inadequate paper gown about me, a vain attempt to preserve my non-existent dignity.  _

_ This is ridiculous, I think, angry. I’m wasting my time. _

_ My doctor returns -- *he who attends to need with vigilance.* Appointed by my hanar trainers, he has cared for me since I was a small boy. Rose-hued tentacles waving gently, he pulses dazzling ultraviolet as he approaches me. _

_ This one is filled with sorrow at the news this one must deliver, he shimmers. The source of your fatigue and lightheadedness has been revealed. It is as this one feared, Kahje has saturated your body, as it has with too many of your brethren.  _

_ A cold, empty sensation spreads through my body. “Kepral’s syndrome.”  _

_ The doctor glows a mournful affirmative.   _

_ A small, bitter smile cracks sharply across my face.  _

_ It is no more than I deserve.  _

_ All that can be done for you, will be done, the hanar doctor promises, swaying gently. You are strong, *blade who bears the sadness of cutting.* You will prevail many years yet. And when the means of this existence have reached their limit, you will bask in the eternal light of the Enkindlers. _

_ No, I think, though I make no reply. And Kalahira will not receive me, either. I am unworthy. The Wheel of Fire shall mill my ruined soul. I will fall into the oblivion to which I have condemned myself, my passing marked by no one. _

_ Irikah’s voice echoes in my mind, adamant as she was in life.  _

_ No, my love. You are  _ **_lost_ ** _ , not ruined. You believe you walk alone, but Arashu watches over you still. She will show you the way to Kalahira’s shore.  _

_ She will lead you back to me.  _

_ I twist my face away from the doctor, my fists curled into tight balls.  _

“Mr. Krios?” Dr. Chakwas places a firm hand on my shoulder. I return to my body with a start. Chakwas is standing close now, holding a small medical scanner near my temple. 

“Doctor. Forgive me,” I say, attempting to hold my voice steady, forcing my hands to relax. 

“Are you all right? You appeared to be experiencing a mild seizure, but my scans aren’t detecting any neurological abnormalities.” 

“I am fine. I was reliving a memory,” I explain. 

Chakwas lowers the scanner. “I knew drell had eidetic memory, but I had no idea the recollections could override your cognitive and motor functioning to that extent. Are the vocalizations voluntary?” 

“Not always,” I admit. 

“That must be inconvenient,” she empathizes. 

“At times, yes.” 

Worried realization crosses her face. “Does this ever occur during combat? Or while you're piloting a vehicle?”

“No, doctor. The recollections can be consuming, but I must indulge them first. Drell have meditative techniques which suppress the process when it is unsafe to experience it.”

“That is good to hear. I'm sorry to have intruded on such a...personal recollection, and for all you've suffered, Mr. Krios,” the doctor sighs. “I wish I had more to offer you, but without transplant surgery…”

“ _ No, _ ” I cut her off. “There are too few drell who die healthy enough to donate vital organs. A staggering number of my people are afflicted with Kepral’s syndrome.” I look down. “Many of them are children. I will not extend my time at their expense.” 

The doctor opens her mouth as if to protest, and then closes it, looking long into my eyes. Finally, she nods. “Well, I’ve still got a few tricks up my sleeve. I have a colleague on the Citadel who has developed some experimental antibiotics we can try. And I can use the same nanotechnology Cerberus developed for Project Lazarus to repair some of the cellular damage.” 

_ Project Lazarus... _

“I ask only that you assist me to continue long enough to fulfill my vow to Shepard,” I insist. “Beyond that, my survival is of no consequence.” 

“If it’s all the same to you, I don’t intend to give up. Not until we’ve run out of options.” Her face takes on a stubborn set. “You shouldn’t, either.” 

“There is little recourse left for this body.” I pause. “Yet...I still have hope.” 

_______________

The door to the medical bay hisses open. Dr. Chakwas and Thane are deep in a conspiratorial huddle as I enter. An expression I’ve learned to dread creases Chakwas’s face as she regards the somber drell assassin perched, mostly undressed, at the edge of a bio bed. They stop speaking and look up as I approach. Thane abruptly drops from the bed to his feet. Even caught off guard in the middle of a medical exam, he manages to do so gracefully.  

“Shepard,” he bows slightly in greeting.  

“Thane. I...shouldn't be interrupting.” My cheeks feel hot.  _ Dammit, EDI, you said they were almost done... _

“Not at all,” he reassures me. “Dr. Chakwas and I were concluding our discussion.” Sinewy muscles ripple along his striped back as he reaches down to collect his discarded leather armor.

Chakwas is busying herself clearing away various instruments. I speak to her to avoid staring at Thane as he dresses.

“Everything check out?” I ask, intentionally oblique. 

Chakwas shoots a questioning look at Thane. He nods his assent as he finishes donning his reinforced leggings and begins tucking several small knives and devices into various concealed holsters. 

“Mr. Krios is doing exceptionally well given the circumstances, Commander,” my old  friend reports, gazing down at her datapad. “He remains in superb physical condition despite the progression of his illness. For the time being, he is more than capable to serve in direct combat.” 

She turns to address Thane as he shrugs into his complicated armored jacket. “That said, I strongly recommend you avoid entering high humidity environments without a dehumidification mask. You say your recon hood has been modified to serve this function -- keep it with you whenever you’re deployed groundside. Blood loss is also particularly hazardous for individuals with Kepral’s syndrome.” 

She approaches him, reaching down to adjust a familiar device embedded in his left wrist. “I’m upgrading your omni-tool to carry a heavier grade of medi-gel; if you sustain a serious wound, it must be applied at once. Please be careful to recheck the levels frequently.” Chakwas straightens and looks back at me. “Aside from that, my advice is to deploy Mr. Krios as frequently as possible. Brisk cardiovascular activity will prevent rapid progression of the disease, and it is easy to fall idle when you’re cooped up on a starship.” 

“We’ll keep all of that in mind. Thanks, doc.” I nod to her.

Thane has finished fastening the last few catches on his complicated garments, and is watching me with glittering, inquisitive black eyes. 

“It’s a pleasure to have you aboard, Mr. Krios,” Dr. Chakwas says. “If any new symptoms or concerns arise, please let me know immediately.” 

“Of course,” he bows slightly. “You have my thanks, doctor.” 

Thane starts for the door, and I fall in step beside him. 

“Mind if I join you for a bit?” 

“Please do.”  

We exit the medical bay. I gesture toward the mess hall. 

“Have you eaten?” I inquire. He probably hasn’t had the opportunity since before he started out to find Nassana. 

He stops, looking toward the empty kitchen. “Not for some time,” he admits. 

“Neither have I. Come on, let’s find the cook.” I beckon Thane to follow me. He does, looking a bit puzzled as I lead him away from the mess hall.

We round the corner into the main corridor, and I poke my head into the women’s restroom. Finding it empty, I cross to the port side of the corridor, peeking into the men’s room. I find Rupert Gardner on his knees, swearing at a mechanism behind the men’s toilet and bashing it with a large wrench. 

“Shepard, the women’s restroom is on the starboard side of the ship,” EDI’s disembodied voice lectures. 

“Thank you, EDI,” I dismiss her. “Rupert?” 

“Oh -- Commander!” Gardner straightens up, looking sheepish. “Sorry -- the recycling unit’s jammed again. Stopped it from flooding the deck, but I can’t get the blockage cleared. Damned krogan…”

Thane turns his penetrating gaze on me. “I’d assumed Garrus was joking about the ship’s plumber preparing the food,” he says quietly.

I wince a little. “I’m afraid not.” 

“Looking for some dinner, Commander?” Gardner asks.

I force myself to nod. Gardner deposits his wrench on the metal toilet tank and follows me out to the corridor. 

“I see we’ve picked up another wayward soul,” Gardner smiles good-naturedly at Thane. 

I nod, “Rupert, this is our newest squadmate, Thane Krios. Thane, this is Mess Sergeant Rupert Gardner -- ship’s cook, janitor, plumber, and jack-of-all-trades.” 

“Hello,” Thane greets him.

“Good to meet you. I hope you like salisbury steak. Or at least, it’s the closest thing I could get to steak...”

“You’ll have no complaint from me. I once went three weeks subsisting entirely on heavily-charred varren meat.” A peculiar, distant look crosses Thane’s face, his mouth twisted with a rare expression I can’t quite interpret. After a moment, he looks up at us and blinks. “Batarian mercenaries are not known for their culinary arts.”

Gardner scratches his head. “Well it’s not varren. Uh... _ pretty  _ sure it’s not varren.” 

I clap Gardner on the shoulder. “I’m sure it will be delicious, Rupert. Your cooking is really starting to shine since we picked up those supplies from the Citadel.” 

Gardner beams as we approach the kitchen. Circling around to the sink, he scrubs his hands, pushes up his sleeves, and, whistling a jaunty tune, sets about preparing our rations. 

__________________

Following a quickly-devoured and largely silent repast in the mess hall, Shepard leads me to the life support bay, carrying a fresh, steaming mug of the bitter black coffee beverage humans are perplexingly dependent upon. 

I try not to stare at her.

_ Two years... _

It had taken Miss Lawson and Cerberus that long to put her back together. The tale Kelly Chambers imparted about Project Lazarus and Shepard’s reconstruction beggars belief. For all intents and purposes, the human woman leading me to my new quarters has been brought back from the dead. 

Yet, aside from the faintly glowing red seams exposing cybernetic implants beneath skin grafts that have yet to fully heal, there is little about Shepard to suggest anything other than youthful vitality. Kelly insisted in her recounting that Shepard had been fully restored -- at the Illusive Man’s instructions -- to the precise condition she was in just prior to her death. Identical in body, mind,  _ soul.  _

I burn with questions I don’t dare ask. 

_ Had she merged with the sea? How can she have returned whole, the same soul she was? How is it that Kalahira would relinquish her? What might she have brought back with her across the expanse?    _

_ For what purpose…? _

Shepard strolls into the dimly lit bay, inspecting the furnishings brought in by the maintenance crew. My footlocker rests near the entrance. A decent-sized steel table has been placed in the center of the alcove behind the O 2  recycling unit, a fold-out military cot tucked in along the wall, affording me an added degree of privacy. A large window overlooks an enormous, mechanical steel orb, and empty utility shelving lines the wall beside it.

“Not bad,” she smiles. I notice her eyes, their inky, shimmering liquid depths reminiscent of the Encompassing, Kahje’s teeming, endless sea. They crinkle at the corners when she smiles. “We need to find you some chairs.”  

“Agreed -- but this will do nicely for now.” The shelving and table should suffice for equipment maintenance, as well as any other task I might need to undertake in my free time. The cot, while narrow, is superior to many of the accommodations I’ve tolerated in the past. 

I cross to the window, looking out at the glowing orb with curiosity. 

“That’s the Tantalus FTL drive core,” Shepard explains. “I have no idea how it works, but it’s sure got my engineering staff excited.” She takes a seat at the foot of the cot, drawing her knees up to her chin and taking a sip of coffee. 

I’m surprised by her lack of formality. My impression was that military officials tended not to socialize with their subordinates. Perhaps humans have different conventions around authority and command hierarchies than the other council races. I realize there are still gaps in my knowledge of Earth’s history, culture, and philosophy. I decide to address these at my earliest convenience. 

I retrieve my footlocker from the entrance and set it down on the table. Flipping the catches and opening the lid, I lift away floating trays filled with smaller tools and possessions, and begin to unload my arsenal. 

“I have kept my standard infiltration loadout in good repair, but my other weapons have not been used for some time,” I explain, examining an older model M-93 Mantis sniper rifle.  

Shepard’s eyes widen. “That’s a Mark III -- issued five years ago?” 

I nod. 

She sighs. “I  _ really _ miss that gun. I lost mine when the Normandy SR-1 went down. Loading mechanism catches a little, but the targeting V.I. was poetry in motion. The new tracking scope on the Mark V drifts to the right.”

I look at her with wonder. “Agreed! I’ve had to apply modifications to compensate. I would still be using this Mark III, but the thermal clip ejection coil needs replacing, and I’ve had difficulty locating the necessary component.” I place the older rifle on one of the utility shelves.

Her mouth drops open. “You found a mod for the scope?  _ Where _ ?” 

“I could not find one, so I built it myself.” I lift my newer Mantis from its holster on my back, placing it beside her on the cot.

Setting her coffee on the floor, she lays the rifle across her lap, running her fingers over the compensation module affixed to the scope. She lifts it to her shoulder and cocks the barrel, careful to point it away from me. Peering through the scope, she moves the rifle side to side, varying the movement speed to test the V.I.’s response.

She lets out a whistle. “This is amazing. Your scope’s tracking is even more intuitive than the Mark III.”  

I feel my inner eyelids begin to flutter at her compliment, but quickly suppress the reflex. “Yes, though note the delay. It takes several milliseconds for the modulator to compensate for the drag. The Mark III tracking V.I. is still superior.”

“I’ll make you a deal,” Shepard sets the rifle down. “You make me a mod for my Mantis V, and I’ll keep an eye out for your ejection coil. Jacob might even have one up in the armory.”

I look down. “I am loathe to trouble Mr. Taylor. I believe I can carry out my maintenance tasks adequately on my own.”

The corners of Shepard’s mouth tighten. “Thane, I’m sorry about Jacob. He…” she pauses, looking troubled. “He isn’t usually like that.” 

“Ah -- you mean arbitrary, combative, and self-righteous?” I say it a bit too sharply, and then soften. “It is not your apology to give -- but I appreciate your wishing to.”    

“You’re right to be angry. He was way out of line. He…” Shepard pauses, a conflicted look crossing her face. “He heard something about you. From a batarian slave trader. Something he claimed you did ten years ago on the Citadel. I’m hoping he heard wrong.” 

My blood turns to ice, and I turn my face away from her. “Whatever he heard, it is...likely he heard correctly.” I had not realized word of my actions a decade ago had reached the ears of the Normandy’s crew -- or anyone else, for that matter. I had believed all the loose threads had been...trimmed.

“What happened?” she asks, her voice soft, oddly absent of the judgment and disgust I had anticipated. 

“I…” the words will not come. My mouth seems filled with sand. I struggle to ground myself against a threatening flood of recollection. “I am sorry, Shepard. Those memories are...difficult, painful to revisit. I vow that I will tell you all, in time. For now, know that the atrocities Mr. Taylor has revealed are those for which I seek atonement. My soul has been marked, and must be cleansed with pain and sacrifice to become whole again. For those lives ended at my soul’s own choosing...I burn with remorse.” 

Shepard is silent for a long time, troubled. At last, she speaks, “It’s not my place to condemn you or forgive you for your past. I can only judge you based on what I see. So far, that’s been in your favor.” Her voice turns to steel, “You pull any unauthorized massacres on  _ my  _ watch, though, and I’ll put a bullet in your head myself.” 

“You have my word it will never come to that, Shepard.” I bow my head, “Let the Wheel mill my soul if I fail you.” 

“For what it’s worth, I believe you.” She softens again, “From now on, we’re a team, Thane. You won’t have any more trouble from Jacob -- or anyone else on the squad. You have _ my _ word on that.” 

“You are kind to care about this, Shepard. However, if Mr. Taylor chooses to continue to be hostile, it is not your responsibility.” 

“It  _ is _ ,” she says with passion. “I’m taking us all into hell, and I will do my damnedest to bring us back in one piece. But my efforts aren’t enough. The quality of our  _ team  _ will be what makes or breaks this mission. I’m not just talking about the abilities of each person we pick up, but the quality of our interactions, our trust in each other. Each of us needs to know that the squad has our ass covered,  _ no matter what _ . It’s my job to set the example, to foster that trust. Otherwise, this whole thing falls apart. ”  

I cannot take my eyes from her as she speaks. Finally, I manage to locate my voice to respond, “I...still have much to learn about this mission.” 

Shepard smiles at me. “You’ll be getting a detailed briefing from Miranda shortly. That should help. Anything else, you’ll pick up as you go along. I’ll bet you’re a fast learner.” 

“Yes,” I say, then realize this sounds arrogant. “ _ All  _ drell tend to be,” I qualify.  

Shepard sets the Mantis back down on the cot beside her and reaches for her mug. She gives a start. “ _ Shit! _ ”

I freeze, regarding her with caution.

“I forgot, I’m supposed to meet Jacob for coffee,” she says, rising to her feet. 

“Is coffee not highly stimulant?” I ask, puzzled. “You have already had two cupfuls in the past hour.” 

“Coffee is my  _ life blood _ ,” Shepard chuckles. “I’m sorry to cut this short, Thane, but I should go. We’ll talk later.” 

“I...would like that,” I say. 

“I’ll get you that coil,” she promises. “Be ready at 0700 tomorrow. We're returning to Illium. Oh - and before I forget…” She hands me a datapad with a mysterious smile. “Looks like you have an admirer.” 

I take the datapad and watch her go. 

I find myself unsettled by the size of the space she leaves behind.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes. I am obsessed with sniper rifles.


	4. Lazarus

Kasumi Goto is bored. Her typical response to boredom? 

_ Make my own fun _ . She smiles to herself. It’s been a few weeks since she’s had time for a good snoop around the ship, and Shep has picked up some very interesting, very  _ secretive _ companions in that time. None of the newcomers take meals during regular service in the mess hall, and Kasumi has yet to be deployed on the same ground squad as any of them. She’s not about to sit around until she  _ is _ to find out more about them. 

_ A drell master assassin, an asari justicar, a traumatized biotic prodigy... _

These are some of the most interesting people in the galaxy, and they’re right outside Kasumi’s door, just waiting to be uncovered. 

Kasumi has not yet spoken directly with Jack, but she’s  _ heard  _ her -- screaming very colourful obscenities at Miranda (or, at least, Kasumi  _ thinks _ it was Miranda, as the phrase ‘Cerberus bitch’ was thrown into the mix at least twice). According to Ken Donnelly, who’d seen the whole thing (and who Kasumi had found cramming down mouthfuls of pot pie between lecherous comments obviously intended to make Gabby Daniels jealous  _ \-  _ those two  _ seriously _ need to get a room) _ ,  _ Jack had reportedly stormed out of the elevator screaming, hurled a datapad at the wall by Miranda’s quarters, grabbed a tray of pot pies from a shocked Rupert Gardner, and skulked away - presumably back to her dungeon on the lower Engineering Deck. Kasumi now imagines the tattooed woman with her shaved head and sad brown eyes crouched down there like a panther, feasting on her stolen pies and waiting to sink her claws into anyone daring to venture her way. 

Fortunately, Kasumi isn’t one to let a minor hitch like insane homicidal rage deter her!  

Samara, the asari justicar, allegedly refused Kelly Chambers’s offer to tour the ship, insisting she had to meditate on “the events of the day,” and withdrawing to the starboard observation lounge. Those who have been fortunate enough to catch a glimpse of the passing justicar on her way through the crew deck use two words to describe her: “beautiful,” and “terrifying.” Kasumi is equally excited by both.  _ Beautiful _ by asari standards is likely to be...well,  _ quite _ something to see. And  _ terrifying _ \-- Kasumi loves meeting people, especially other women, who have earned that label. 

The assassin, Thane, is another puzzle just waiting to be solved. So far, Kasumi’s eavesdropping has provided the following tidbits: that he is arguably the most successful living assassin in the galaxy, that he is dying of a terminal illness (though the glimpses she’s caught of him so far make that quite difficult to believe), and that those who speak with him find he is, somehow, not what they were expecting. 

Kasumi loves it when things are not as she is expecting. 

Thane is the only one of the three who appears regularly outside his quarters. While he says and eats little, he often prepares tea in the mess hall or strolls about the Normandy. That’s when he isn’t deployed on Shepard’s point squad -- which, judging from the others’ envious grumbling, is surprisingly often for a newbie. 

Most of all, though, Kasumi is hoping to see Jacob. 

Beautiful Jacob. Not since she lost Keiji has Kasumi found herself preoccupied with such an infatuation. And yes, her heart still aches with love for Keiji, but Kasumi has never been one to believe that hearts have a limited quantity of love -- or  _ lust _ \-- in them. They aren’t territory to be claimed -- they are more like stars. The more they draw into them, the more massive and radiant they grow. 

Kasumi had spotted Shep and Jacob having coffee in the mess hall a couple of times over the past week. She recognized that look in Shep’s eye, that lilt in her voice. Not because she’s seen them before, but more because she  _ hasn’t _ . Shep carries herself with grace in most situations, and she’s a lot more expressive than a typical military officer -- she’s intuitive, sincere, approachable. It makes her a special kind of leader - the kind you follow because you want to, not because you  _ have _ to. 

But, as it turns out, she is also an excruciatingly awkward flirt, her technique as painful to watch as her dancing -- which Kasumi also had the questionable privilege of observing shortly after Shep recruited her from the Citadel. Shep had tossed back four Batarian ales at the Dark Star before dragging Kasumi, Garrus, and a very disgruntled Miranda onto the dance floor. She'd then proceeded to flail around like a wounded vorcha for twenty minutes. Garrus had laughed so hard he struggled to breathe, while Miranda had pretended not to know either of them.  

It’s incredible. Shep’s battle-hardened physique, force of personality, and poise make her a striking figure, and her voice, sultry and powerful, should leave any suitor melting like an ice cube on a hot plate. But when she  _ tries _ to be sexy, her movements are self-conscious and contrived, and her voice goes from it’s usual seductive quality to... _ goofy _ . 

Kasumi wonders if it’s just because Shep and Jacob are a horrible match (the sad flirting, not the dancing). They are, of course. Their lack of chemistry is obvious. However, Shep’s clumsy advances could also be from growing up in the military. Shep is  _ young  _ for a ranking military officer, and was already an N7 marine and starship commander when the Normandy SR-1 went down. Then she was dead for two years. That didn’t leave time for a lot of dating. Shep’s past “romantic” liaisons, Kasumi speculates, have likely involved furtive groping and guilty, hurried trysts in locker rooms, shower stalls, and bunks surrounded by other sleeping (or  _ not _ sleeping) soldiers. 

In other words, she’s just not used to being subtle. 

Then there’s Jacob. Smooth, sexy, handsome Jacob. He has a  _ game _ , and it’s an old-school game Kasumi has seen (and participated in) before. He likes to control the pace, to keep the upper hand in a dating scenario. It’s a cute, harmless echo of the sexist dating practices on Earth in the 20th century -- harmless because human women now hold power as men do on the wider galactic stage. Sexist philosophy was already a laughingstock by 2050, and lost the remainder of its true adherents after first contact with the asari (learning the most advanced species in the galaxy is made up entirely of ‘women’ -- at least in appearance and demeanor -- will do that). Now, women who play Jacob’s game are role-playing a quaint historical romance for their own amusement. 

However, his game doesn’t include a strategy for being pursued by a superior officer, particularly by one as intimidating as Shep -- and Shep doesn’t play by the rules. Hell, Shep  _ can’t _ pretend to be a powerless, eyelash-batting damsel. The required level of pretense simply isn’t in the commander’s repertoire. So Jacob’s slamming on the brakes, trying to come up with a new angle, and it’s making her impatient and  _ even more awkward.  _

It is pretty funny to watch, the reason why Kasumi isn’t too worried about Shep’s interest in Jacob. She knows it’ll never work out. Probably. 

_ And even so, nothing is stopping me from looking!  _

Kasumi activates her tactical cloak, preparing for her personal reconnaissance mission. 

She decides to head up to the C.I.C. first. Thinking so much about Jacob has made her even more eager to get a glimpse of him. Also, Jacob keeps a clockwork schedule when he’s off-duty, and Kasumi doesn’t want to miss what she knows he’ll be doing at 1500 hours. 

Leaving the port observation lounge, she steals her way down the silent corridor toward the elevator. She waits by the entrance until another crew member approaches with a datapad, and hitches a ride up with her, slipping in and out undetected. She knows her wait by the armory entrance will take longer because the area is only frequented by Shep and her ground squad. After about ten minutes, the elevator slides open, and Kasumi can’t believe her good fortune as Jack emerges, her face dark with frustration, and storms toward the armory clutching a damaged shotgun. 

Kasumi darts in on the biotic warrior’s heels. Once inside, she drifts like a wraith to the starboard wall, tucking herself in beside an equipment locker. 

Jack throws the shotgun down on the workbench and bolts it to the surface with a heavy clamp. She seizes a long, flat piece of metal and shoves it into a mechanism, cursing. 

Jacob looks up from his own work and watches Jack with amusement. Jack chooses that moment to shoot a suspicious glance over her shoulder. 

“Something funny?”  

Jacob raises his palms and looks innocent. “Nope. I’m all good over here.” 

“Fucking Cerberus frat boy,” she spits at him, and bashes at the gun. 

Kasumi can tell he’s entertained by Jack’s attempts to push his buttons. _God, he’s so_ _cool…_

“What’d I do?” he asks. 

“You were born,” Jack snaps. “Urgh this  _ fucking  _ thing won’t  _ fucking  _ come off.” 

“Is that a Mark V Eviscerator?” Jacob asks, taking a step toward her and glancing at the workbench.

“Mark IV,” she growls. “Stupid piece of shit.” 

“What are you trying to do?” 

“Back off, asshole. I’m not a fucking princess like Shepard. I can fix my own gun.” 

“Shepard a princess?” Jacob chuckles. “ _ That _ I’d give more than a few credits to see. The commander won’t let me near her guns. She does a much better job than  _ that _ with hers, too. What the hell did you do to it?”   

“I didn’t do  _ shit _ , jackoff. Took this off a dead guard back at Purgatory when Shepard came to spring me out,” she boasts. “Then some turian fucker hit me with a flamethrower while I was making a run for it. I blew his stupid bird head off, but not before he melted the kinetic coil to the frame. Still worked fine for awhile, but now the coil’s burned out.” 

“We just picked up a new shipment of arms, courtesy of the Illusive Man,” Jacob tells her. “I saw a couple Mark V Eviscerators in there. If you want one, it’s yours.” 

Jack grinds her teeth. “I don’t need any favors from you, or that douchebag fucking hologram. Besides -- this one has  _ sentimental  _ value,” she says with a gleam in her eye. 

“Okay, I get it,” Jacob backs off. “Spare parts are in the bin over there. There should be some kinetic coils that’ll fit.” 

Jack bashes at the gun again. “Thanks, frat boy.” 

Jacob shakes his head and turns back to his work. Kasumi can see him removing a component from a damaged sniper rifle -- a Mantis, she reads from the inscription on the barrel. It most likely isn’t his; Kasumi’s been groundside with Jacob, and she knows he specializes in close range combat. He must be fixing one of the other squad members’s guns.

_ That’s strange. Garrus and Shep work on their own guns. Zaeed, too… _

Putting that puzzle aside for the moment, Kasumi realizes Jack’s continued presence is going to interfere with Jacob’s usual schedule, and her heart sinks. She stays in her corner, stuck until someone decides to leave, while the two labour over their guns. Jacob works diligently; Jack emits violent curses and occasionally smashes a fist into the workbench. 

After a few minutes of this, Jack checks over her shoulder to make sure Jacob isn’t looking, falls silent, and begins to direct a precise biotic filament toward the gun’s innards. Concentrating, Jack moves the filament like a scalpel and cuts away the damaged component. 

Kasumi raises an invisible eyebrow. 

_ Jack isn’t nearly as foolish as she lets on. _

Jack crosses to the bin and begins to rummage through it, tossing components over her shoulder, muttering a unique curse at each piece that doesn’t turn out to be the kinetic coil she’s looking for. 

“Hanar cock.”  _ Clink. _

“Shit rag.”  _ Clunk.  _

“Fucking krogan strap-on.”  _ Ker-chunk. _

“What  _ is _ this, a laser tampon? Shepard’s favorite, I bet.”  _ Pling. _

“Joker’s butt-plug.”  _ Plonk.  _

“Chastity belt. Probably Miranda’s.”  _ Thunk.  _

Jacob pretends not to listen, but Kasumi can see a concealed grin on his lowered face. Finally, Jack lets out a whoop.

“Haha!” She jumps up and returns to the workbench with her coil.

Jacob clears his throat behind her. 

“What?” she whirls on him. 

“Are you gonna leave those lying there?” He points at the debris scattered by the bin. 

She rolls her eyes. “Fuck off, Mom,” she sneers. Her left arm glows blue and she jerks it upward. The discarded pieces levitate as her mass effect field envelops them. She flicks her wrist and they crash back into the bin. 

Jacob turns back to the Mantis, finally pulling loose a small mechanism. “Sweet, still good as new,” he grins. “ EDI,” he calls out, looking up. 

“Hello, Mr. Taylor,” EDI’s blue holo-image mushrooms from a console on Jacob’s left. 

“Can you tell Shepard I’ve got her coil? She can pick it up whenever she’s ready.” 

“My pleasure, Mr. Taylor.” 

“I’ll bet it’s your pleasure, you giant blue vibrator,” Jack mutters at the A.I.’s admittedly suggestive spectral form. 

“Subject Zero,” EDI begins. Jack flips her middle finger at EDI for using her hated Cerberus experimental designation instead of her name. “I am programmed for electronic defense and cyberwarfare. I’ve already informed both Mr. Moreau and Yeoman Chambers that I do not possess any sexual performance algorithms. I do not understand why humans would wish me to acquire that particular set of functions.” 

Jack stares at EDI for a moment, and then bursts out laughing. “Oh my fuck,” she gasps.  

“Was that funny?” EDI demands. “I am trying to upgrade my humour subroutines.”  

Jack just continues to laugh, doubling over her workbench, her shoulders shaking. Jacob smiles his beautiful smile. Kasumi enjoys it while it lasts. EDI gives up on obtaining an answer from Jack, and disappears back into the console. 

“You almost done replacing that coil?” Jacob asks Jack. “I gotta do my workout soon.”

“Don't let me stop you," Jack snickers. “You've got to make yourself pretty for Shepard before she jumps the drell.” 

Jacob freezes, his face like stone. “What...what the hell are you talking about?” 

_ What’s this, now?  _ Kasumi leans in closer. 

“Lately he’s on her fucking point squad every time she goes groundside. Have you seen that guy in action? It’s better than  _ porn _ .” Jack’s smile is lupine, “Damn,  _ I’d  _ like to jump his green ass.” 

“Of course  _ you’d  _ jump it,” Jacob snaps. “You’re both psychopaths. Hell, maybe you should go for it. Perfect match.” 

“Maybe I will, jagweed. He’s a religious nut, which is a buzzkill, and I don’t usually go for alien cock. Still, nothing’s better than a good hard fuck after a kill streak -- and I’ve never seen anyone pull off a kill streak like that scaly bastard,” Jack taunts Jacob. “Plus I heard drell skin’s coated in a  _ hallucinogen. _ Sex, drugs, and violence all in one damn tidy package. How could Shepard  _ not _ want a piece?” 

“You’re fucking sick, you know that?” Jacob scowls at her. 

“That’s what you hired me for, dickhead,” Jack rolls her eyes and turns back to her workbench. 

Jacob sighs, and strips off his tunic. Lowering himself to the floor, he starts a series of rapid, angry crunches. 

_ Well, isn’t that interesting?  _ Kasumi thinks as she watches Jacob, torn between Jack’s intriguing hypothesis and the muscles rippling beneath Jacob’s smooth dark skin.... _ Oh, who am I kidding?  _ Kasumi smiles, temporarily abandoning further speculation about Shepard and Thane, turning her full attention to Jacob’s glorious abdomen.  _ Mmmm… _

Kasumi watches raptly, imagining what it would feel like to run her hands over those muscles, to feel them against her skin. She shivers, her knees weak. She fights a powerful urge to do deliciously naughty things to herself while she watches. Not that Kasumi has a problem being deliciously naughty...or even being  _ caught _ being deliciously naughty (she has been before -- though not entirely by accident, and with interesting consequences). Kasumi is just wary of the tangle she could land in if she gets caught taking voyeuristic pleasure in the Commander’s romantic interest. 

Or maybe...Shep would want to join her. Kasumi may have peeked in on Shep’s little ‘dinner’ date with Kelly Chambers. She might have her eye on Jacob, but Shep is  _ definitely  _ playing for more than one team. Enthusiastically.  

_ Urgh,  _ **_not helping_ ** _... _ Kasumi groans inwardly. It seems her hands have chosen to disobey their instructions to stay put. Kasumi sinks against the locker, eyes riveted on Jacob’s sweat-slick body.  _ Ohhh...that’s it... _

Jack un-clamps the shotgun from her workbench, and lifts it close to her eyes for inspection. Kasumi barely notices until she hears her let out a satisfied growl. 

“Fuckin-A. Anywhere I can test this thing out?” Jack demands. 

Jacob continues with his crunches. “Check it...with the scanner,” he grunts between reps. 

“Go fuck your scanner! I want to  _ shoot _ something.” 

“Not...on the ship,” Jacob pants. 

“Gaaah. It’s fucking boring here. I’m gonna go crazy.”

“Try doing…some crunches,” Jacob suggests. 

“Crunches are for pretty boys,” Jack pauses, considering. “Got a chin-up bar in this dump?” 

“Eezo...coolant pipe…in the corner,” Jacob points as he rises. 

Jack wanders over to one of the thick orange pipes running along the ceiling. She leaps up and grasps it with both hands, pulling herself up, testing its stability. 

“Okay, this could work,” she concedes, and begins a set of chin-ups. 

Jack is now uncomfortably close to Kasumi. Extracting her hands from anywhere they shouldn’t be right now, Kasumi circles around to the other side of the equipment locker, careful not to make a sound. 

Kasumi tries to keep watching Jacob, but she’s too distracted by Jack’s proximity, and by the maze of tattooes winding around the woman’s scantily clad body. Up close, Kasumi can see that many of them are designed to conceal scars and welts. She winces, wondering at the past Jack carries with her, its reminders engraved in her skin.  

After ten minutes or so, the door to the armory slides open again, and Kasumi breathes a sigh of relief. It’s Shep, and she looks like she’s in a hurry. Kasumi darts across the room, lurking by the door and preparing to exit when Shep does. 

Jacob stands, nodding his respects to the commander.

“Jacob -- EDI says you’ve got that coil.” Shep keeps her tone formal in front of Jack, but Kasumi still catches her eying Jacob’s gleaming physique.

“Right here, Commander,” Jacob retrieves the component he removed from the damaged Mantis, and tosses it to her. She looks it over, then nods with approval.

“This’ll work.” She smiles, “Thanks, Jacob.” 

“No problem, Shepard.”

“Carry on, you two,” Shepard nods at Jack, who glares at her and continues doing chin-ups in the corner.   

Shepard turns and heads for the armory exit, but pauses and turns to steal a last glance at Jacob as he resumes his workout routine. Kasumi, hot on her heels, takes the opportunity for a final look of her own.  _ Mmmm sexy Jacob...I’ll see you again soon.  _ Kasumi smiles, looking forward to reviewing Jacob’s workout footage, which she’s just filed safely away in her neural “graybox” implant.

Shepard exits through the C.I.C., nodding and smiling at Kelly Chambers on her way to the elevator. Kasumi slips along behind her, undetected. 

_ I wonder where she’s going?  _ Kasumi notes that Shep isn’t in her N7 gear, and she didn’t stop at the star map to plot a new course, so she’s not headed on a mission. Kasumi watches as Shepard punches in the command to take the elevator down to the crew deck.  _ Darn _ , Kasumi thinks. She always loves an opportunity to snoop around Shep’s cabin. 

Shep strides out of the elevator, and turns down the portside corridor. 

_ Well now... _ Kasumi thinks, a slow smile spreading across her face. There are only two people Shep could be going to see down that corridor.  _ Me...or Thane.  _

Kasumi isn’t surprised at all when Shep veers left to enter the life support bay. Kasumi stays behind her.  _ I’m  _ **_definitely_ ** _ not missing this.  _

Shepard smooths her tunic and approaches Thane, who is sitting at his table, gazing out at the glowing drive core. 

“Shepard,” he rasps without looking behind him. 

_ He knew it would be her.  _

“Have a few minutes to talk?” Shep asks.  _ Oh Shep -- you always ask that. And it always takes more than a few minutes. _

“Of course,” Thane turns to her, and gestures to the other chair. Shepard sits across from him, a satisfied smile on her face. 

Kasumi sneaks up as close as she dares, putting her back against the wall alongside Thane’s arsenal. She wants a clear view of both of them as they converse. Body language can be much more informative than words. 

Shep reaches into her pocket, and withdraws the coil she retrieved from Jacob. She places it on the table in front of Thane. 

He blinks. “Thank you, Shepard. I did not mean to take you away from your duties merely to obtain this for me.” 

“You didn't ask -- I offered. I also cheated a little. I had Jacob remove it from one of the damaged rifles in the armory,” Shep tells him. Thane opens his mouth to speak, but Shep silences him by holding up her hand, “I didn’t tell him it was for you. He thinks I’m doing repairs on mine.” 

Thane picks up the coil, turning it over in his hands. “Mr. Taylor is quite skilled. The coil is still in excellent shape.” 

“Jacob’s a good man,” Shepard says.  _ She’s defensive,  _ Kasumi notes. Thane, on the other hand, is unreadable, his face and body still and controlled.  _ Oh, he’s good,  _ she observes.  _ I’d better not show him how to play poker.  _

“He must be, if he has impressed you as such.” 

A mysterious look of consternation crosses Shep’s face, but it vanishes as she shifts quickly back into commander mode. “If I deploy you and Jacob on the same squad, will it be an issue?” Shep asks. 

Thane’s head takes an almost imperceptible tilt. “Shepard, you need only give the order, and I will follow it. I am unlikely to seek Mr. Taylor’s company during my personal time, but I am a professional. There will be no issue.”   

“Good,” Shepard lets her breath out. “There’s a matter he’s asked me to investigate, and I need you down there with us. Something doesn’t feel right about the whole situation, so I want your observational skills on point.” 

Kasumi notes that Thane’s eyes seem to flutter for an instant. “I am yours,” he says, his voice grave. 

Kasumi notes Shep’s cheeks have darkened considerably.

_ Hmmm...well, that  _ **_was_ ** _ a pretty intense way to say “Aye, commander” -- I’d probably be blushing, too.  _

“0700 tomorrow morning, then.” 

_ Interesting. Shep isn’t getting up to leave. _

“I will be ready,” Thane pauses, then picks up a small, metallic device Kasumi can’t identify from the table. He holds it out to Shepard. “I have finished building your module.”

Shep’s eyes go wide with delight, and she grins. Kasumi doesn’t think she’s  _ ever _ seen Shep grin like this before. Smile, sure. Laugh, even. But this is different, an ‘I just got exactly what I wanted for my birthday’ grin. She takes the object and inspects it. 

“If you wish, I can integrate it into your Mantis’s tracking interface. I have performed the procedure multiple times -- it is somewhat delicate,” Thane offers. 

“Thanks, Thane,” Shep nods her assent, continuing to admire Thane's handiwork. 

“It is no trouble,” he insists. 

_ What was  _ **_that_ ** _?  _ Kasumi ponders. _ Jacob just finished telling Jack that Shep won’t let him touch her guns. _

For a moment, Thane and Shepard are both silent, watching each other. Then Shep leans forward, resting her forearms on the table in front of her. 

“The last time we talked, you started speaking about a past event as if you were watching it.” 

Thane takes his mug in his hands, but doesn’t drink from it. “Drell have eidetic memory. We can relive any moment in our lives with perfect clarity. It’s difficult to control at times. Some of us disappear into...Mmm, let’s call it solipsism.”

Shepard’s forehead scrunches into a frown. “What do you mean, ‘solipsism?’” 

_ Poor Shep -- it’s  _ **_really_ ** _ hard to keep up with this guy’s vocabulary.  _

“My apologies. Solipsism is the metaphysical position that one’s own mind is the only thing in the universe certain to exist, and thus, the mind itself constitutes reality in its entirety. It is at once a state of pure egocentrism, and of profound isolation. For my people, this is not so much a chosen philosophical stance, but a consequence of finding one’s memories preferable to the present, and so becoming consumed by them.” 

“So drell are happier living in their own heads than in reality?” 

“Only when reality has become...unkind.” Thane pauses, looking up at Shepard with intense, glittering black eyes, “When a memory feels as real as life, it’s as valid as life. Thinking about a moment brings back the smell of cut grass, the warmth of another’s hand on yours, the taste of another’s tongue in your mouth. Wouldn’t you rather lose yourself in such a memory than spend the night alone, staring at walls of metal and plastic?” 

_ God, yes,  _ Kasumi sighs inwardly, thinking of Keiji. Kasumi feels a sharp pang of unacknowledgable, powerful connection to the somber assassin.

Shep, meanwhile, looks like the floor just fell out from under her. Her eyes widen, her mouth opening slightly. She swallows, and shifts in her chair, that dark flush resurging in her cheeks. She begins to look at Thane with something Kasumi is well-acquainted with --  _ longing. _

_ Wow... _ Kasumi observes with fascination.  _ Okay, clearly Jack  _ **_wasn’t_ ** _ just messing with Jacob’s head. _

For a long time, Shep doesn’t speak. Thane watches her patiently. Finally, she gives her head a little shake, and she manages to answer his question.

“Yes, I think I would,” Shep confesses. “Mine aren’t perfect...but I’ve spent more than a few nights with nothing but...certain memories...to keep me company.”  

“Then you do understand,” Thane’s face gives little away, but his voice betrays his relief. “I’ve struggled against this tendency a great deal in recent years.”    

“You implied that it’s more difficult to resist when your life isn’t going well,” Shepard muses. “Have you found it hard since you’ve been here?” 

_ She wants to know if he’s happier now that he’s joined her squad.  _

Thane turns the mug in his hands. “It depends a great deal on the circumstances. It seems we are alike in finding nights most difficult.”

_ There’s more. He’s evading her question.  _

“It’s easier when there are missions to focus on,” Shep concedes.

“Yes,” Thane agrees. “Also --” he begins to say more, then hesitates. Kasumi notes a  shift in the soft, pinkish-red frills running from his clavicle to the scaled ridge-plates lining his face. They have deepened to a livid scarlet.   

_ Is he  _ **_blushing_ ** _? _

Shepard leans closer, inquisitive. 

“I...it is also easier...when I am with you,” he admits at last. “Shepard, I...appreciate these chats we have.”  

Shep’s eyes widen even further, her mouth dropping open. Remembering herself, she snaps it shut again.        

Kasumi is  _ dying. _ She almost can’t bear to watch anymore. 

_ Almost.  _

Shepard recovers from her fluster, and she looks sad as she realizes the full implications of what Thane has just revealed. “You’ve spent a lot of your life alone, Thane.” 

“I don’t mean to bid for your sympathy. I deserve none, for I am merely reaping what I’ve sown. For much of my life, work fulfilled me. Reading. I barely spoke to anyone outside my family. It seems there will be no one to mourn me when I die,” he looks away, his voice lowering. “You’re the only friend I’ve made in ten years.” 

Shep gazes at him, a conflicted look knitting her brow. The expression passes, replaced by a resolute stare, a firm setting of her jaw.  _ She’s reached some sort of decision. _

“‘Friend,’ hmm?” she says with pointed, teasing deliberation. “It’s a start,” she rises to her feet abruptly, perhaps hoping to leave before he can say anything to e her mind.

Thane’s brow ridges rise (with surprise? Kasumi isn’t certain). “‘A start,’” he repeats carefully. “That’s…” he lets out something like a nervous chuckle, “...intriguing.” 

Kasumi is taken so off-guard that she neglects to slip out on Shepard’s tail as the commander exits the life support bay. The door snaps shut, and Kasumi cringes. Without Shepard here to distract him, Thane is much more likely to detect her presence, even with her tactical cloak activated. 

Thane remains seated at the table, lost in thought. He picks up the coil Shepard gave him, and curls his fingers around it. Then he picks up a datapad, and begins keying in commands. 

Kasumi creeps up with agonizing care, heart in her throat, to peer over his shoulder at the datapad. She sees he is doing an extranet search on old Earth religions, focusing on the Judeo-Christian traditions. 

_ Why would he be interested in Earth religions? Shep isn’t religious, and he’s got his own belief system. Looking for cultural context, maybe?  _ Kasumi ponders as Thane rapidly absorbs pages of data. Kasumi watches as he applies a search filter, using the term  _ Lazarus.  _

_Aha._ Kasumi nods, making the connection. Lazarus is the code name of the Cerberus cell Shep is currently commanding, as well as for her reconstruction project. The code name references a figure from old Earth religious mythology. _He_ **_is_** _looking for context._

Kasumi has a sudden insight. Thinking back over her myriad stolen historical items, Kasumi recalls several relevant passages from one of the ancient books she’d acquired from a museum in London. A volume of an original 1611 AD printing of King James’ Version of the Holy Bible. It is sitting on her shelf in the next room. 

She backs carefully away from Thane, wracking her brain for ways to leave the life support bay undetected.  _ It’ll take him forever to find what he’s looking for on the extranet,  _ she agonizes.  _ Nobody cares about old Earth history these days. Everyone’s too busy looking forward, into the stars.  _

Thane sits bolt upright, dropping the datapad. In one fluid motion, he rises like a viper, twisting away from his seat, drawing a dagger from a concealed holster in his thigh guard. He’s almost on Kasumi before she can react. 

_ Dôshiyô _ _ ,  _ Kasumi freezes. _ He must have felt a shift in the air currents.  _

He stops, standing perfectly still and alert, vigilant for any movement or sound. His eyes widen, and up close Kasumi can peer right into their depths, his chameleon-like irises a deep, mossy green embedded in semi-opaque pools of liquid black. She notes their jarring ability to move independently of each other. _Holy shit -- he can_ _scan multiple visual fields simultaneously._

He relaxes his posture, lowering the knife. 

“Miss Goto,” he rasps, his voice sharp with reproach.  

Kasumi chastises herself for her carelessness. She can see Thane no longer plans to strike, but she’s not keen on sticking around to explain herself. Darting for the door, she exits the life support bay, cloaking shield still activated, and bolts down the port corridor to the observation lounge. Not waiting to see whether he’s following her back to her quarters, she activates her omni-tool, frantically encrypting the auto-lock. 

_ That should hold for awhile,  _ she thinks. 

Kasumi realizes her interrupted plan for a random act of kindness is now a mandatory peace offering. Scrambling across her bed to the bookshelf, she shuffles through row after row of ancient bound volumes, looking for the King James bible. She spots it after a moment, seizing the heavy, fragile book from the shelf and opening it out on her bedspread. She leafs tenderly through the yellowed, age-brittle parchment sheets, looking for the passage she’d recalled about Lazarus. After about fifteen minutes, she finds it. 

_ Jesus saith unto her, Thy brother shall rise again… _

Excited, Kasumi scans down the page. 

_...I am the resurrection, and the life: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet  _ _ shall he live… _

Kasumi reads on. The archaic language and antiquated, idiosyncratic typeface would normally pose enormous barriers to understanding -- particularly for non-native English speakers like herself and Thane. Fortunately, she’d also helped herself to the bible’s accompanying translator mod when she’d pillaged the museum. 

_...and when he thus had spoken, he cried with a loud voice, Lazarus, come forth.  _

From what Kasumi is able to decipher, Jesus resurrected Lazarus of Bethany, dead for four days, because he had not been there to heal him when he fell ill. It was one of the many legendary miracles performed by Jesus as he attempted to save humankind from eternal damnation. A fitting metaphor for Shep and what she’s been through over the past two years.

_ But who is Shep in this scenario?  _ Kasumi wonders.  _ Lazarus, or Jesus?  _ Kasumi frowns. If Lazarus represents Shepard, then Jesus represents...the Illusive Man? 

_ Well, he’s certainly  _ **_arrogant_ ** _ enough to think he’s another messiah...maybe delusions of grandeur are the only qualification for the job...  _ Kasumi shrugs, and decides to leave it to Thane to puzzle out for himself. 

Kasumi stands and rummages through her drawers. She retrieves some decorative tissue gilt with faux gold leaf she picked up during her last visit to the Citadel, and a thick, textured piece of antique stationary. She picks up her calligraphy pen from the desk, and sits down to ink a carefully-phrased message. 

_____________________

I sit at the edge of my cot, wondering with chagrin how much Miss Goto has overheard. The mischievous purloiner is extremely fortunate I recognized the signature of her tactical cloak before I followed through with my reflex to strike. 

I consider following the young woman and confronting her for trespassing. She'd fled the moment I called out to her, a ridiculous reaction considering the lack of hiding places available aboard the Normandy. Somewhat amused by this, I decide to let the matter pass. Miss Goto’s invasive but otherwise harmless curiosity is oft-noted by the crew, and I remind myself that privacy is an unachievable expectation on a starship. Indeed, EDI is also privy to all that occurs in my quarters, and has likely retained a recording of what has just transpired. 

My face and throat still burn at Miss Goto’s intrusion, but more still at the memory of Shepard’s parting words.

_ “‘Friends,’ hmm,” her eyes glow like the molten setting sun dancing across the vast surface of the twilight Encompassing. A coil of mahogany hair falls across her forehead. Her mouth is clever, welcoming, her cheeks dark with some emotion I dare not guess. Delicate veins of red glow just beneath her skin, spread out like filaments of spider silk. Her voice is steel concealed in velvet, “it’s a start.” _

I remind myself not to presume Shepard’s motives. Humans can be more difficult to read than other species, their exaggerated facial expressions and expansive body language suggesting extremes that do not always match their soul’s intentions. What Shepard wishes may not be that which has set my blood running hot through my veins.  __

I must also be mindful of her ambivalent association with Mr. Taylor. My study of human culture has suggested that most continue to adhere to the monogamous pair-bonding arrangements dictated for millennia by their religious, philosophical, and even scientific knowledge systems. Although Shepard’s affiliation with Taylor remains unclear for now, if they are thus committed, I must not intrude, no matter how I might long to do so.

Most of all, I must consider my interactions with Shepard in the context of my life, which is quickly drawing to a close. I have already abandoned one family, inadequate to provide the support and protection they required of me. 

_ Irikah… _

Shepard appears to need little in the way of protection, from me or anyone else. Yet I thought the same of Irikah; that her indomitable will and unbreakable faith would shield her better than I ever could. My failure was the wound that truly slew Irikah, my weakness the villain that orphaned Kolyat. I cannot bear the thought of losing Shepard as well. This time, I must not falter. Shepard looks into an abyss. Who knows what demons may look back from beyond?  

“Arashu, lend me strength,” I plead.   

Even prayer gives no comfort. Arashu’s grace may gird me while I rally behind Shepard’s purpose. But what entitlement have I past that point? My only hope is to seek sufficient redemption to return my soul to Kalahira’s sea. I will still die, and if I do so blessed with Shepard’s affection, my death will be a blade in her heart. 

I find myself reluctant to draw that blade.

As I ponder these matters, I hear a chime at my door. Surprised, I rise from my cot. I know it is not Shepard returning, as her command clearance bypasses the auto-lock to my quarters, an oversight I have never cared to correct.   

I approach the door, and activate my omni-tool to disengage the lock. The door slides open. 

There is no one there. 

At first, I think it must be a malfunction. “EDI,” I call for the spectral A.I. “Is there something wrong with the door?” 

“Hello, Thane,” EDI says brightly. “Your door is working correctly. However, there is an object obstructing the entryway.” 

I look down and spot a square package at my feet. Curious, I bend down to retrieve it. 

“Who left this here?” I ask EDI. 

“My visual records suggest it was Miss Goto. I believe her tactical cloak was initiated when it was delivered.” The A.I. pauses for effect, “Either that, or the parcel levitated down the hall on its own.” 

I allow myself a small smile. “That was an effective joke. Mild, perhaps, but effective.” 

“Thank you, Thane,” EDI says, sounding pleased. “I will update my program accordingly.” 

I carry the parcel back inside, and set it down on the table to inspect it. It is wrapped neatly in a delicate, semi-translucent paper of deep green stamped with a gold pattern. I carefully open the package, and observe the contents with wonder. It is a large book, hand-bound in leather. Ancient. It’s musty, secret scent fills my nostrils. A familiar chip-device is taped to the cover; a translation module. I insert the chip into an open port in the implant embedded in my forearm, then activate my omni-tool's translation matrix. In faded, barely legible script, the title reads in old human English: _THE HOLY BIBLE, Containing the Old Testament, AND THE NEW: Newly Translated out of the Original tongues: & with the former Translations diligently compared and revised, by his Majesties special Commandment. _

Beneath the title sits a card, inscribed with human Japanese characters in a fine hand. 

_ Thane, _

_ I’m sorry I snuck into your quarters. I promise I didn’t steal anything, except maybe a few secrets -- but those are safe with me.  _

_ I want you to have this. You may find it more helpful than the extranet in understanding the historical and spiritual significance of Lazarus. Refer to John 11: 23 - 43.  _

_ I hope you and Shep both find what you are looking for.   _

_ ~ K.G. ~  _

_ P.S. ~ I have hundreds more books on my shelves in the observation lounge. Most of them are old Earth classics. Help yourself whenever you like -- just don’t spill tea on them.  _

I carefully fold the card, placing it in one of my concealed pockets for safekeeping. Opening the cover with reverence, I inhale old parchment and decaying ink. A historical relic from Earth’s past, and a treasured tie to Shepard’s ancestral roots. 

Enchanted, I lose myself in the old tome.  


	5. I will await you across the sea

When Shepard is ready, she lets go of the war memorial, and allows Garrus and Liara to lead her back to Liara’s quarters. Garrus helps Shepard to sit on Liara’s bed, then excuses himself, apologetic and a tad greener than he ought to be.

“There is one more thing I must show you,” Liara is shy, uncertain. “It was meant to be delivered directly to your private message terminal but I...intercepted it. I thought it might be better if it were delivered by a friend.” 

Shepard raises eyes that stand out radiant amber-on-onyx against reddened capillaries. “What is it?” 

Liara sits beside her, holding the datapad. “It’s a letter from Thane. He was uncertain how much time he had left with you. He wanted to leave something behind, in case he never had the chance to say goodbye.” 

“You read it already?” Shepard’s voice is dangerous.

“I’m sorry, Shepard. I read it over a year ago. After we seized the Shadow Broker’s ship from the Yahg, Feron and I went through all his stored intelligence files. The Shadow Broker had terabytes of private information extracted from the Normandy’s data servers -- including Thane’s journal. He wrote several versions of this letter while he was on board,” Liara’s voice is grave. “At first I didn’t realize what I was reading -- I didn’t know  _ ‘siha’ _ was you -- and by the time I figured it out....well obviously I couldn’t un-read it. Also, I was concerned about you. I’ve known this day would arrive, so I prepared for it as best I could.” 

Shepard’s expression softens, and she reaches out for the datapad. Liara watches as Shepard reads, her fingers tightening on the metal frame, her chin beginning to quiver. Shepard blinks hard and tries to continue reading, but she can no longer see clearly. She sets down the datapad on the bed beside her and her face collapses. 

“Oh... _ Liara _ ,” she wails, a sound unlike any Liara has ever heard, a grief so deep distilled into that single word, it tears at Liara to hear it. 

“Shepard,” Liara draws Shepard toward her, tucking her mess of fuchsia monkey-hair beneath her chin, folding her into a safe embrace. 

“I left him behind,” she is weeping openly now, intoxication and exhaustion eroding the last of her façade. “So many times...I should have stayed. I should have saved him.” 

“You  _ did, _ Shepard,” Liara argues. “Look at what his life was before, and how he changed it all because of you. You inspired him to become what he never believed he could be. A teammate, a father, a lover...and a hero.” 

“It meant nothing, Liara. He still died...” 

“It means  _ everything _ . You provided him with a spiritual redemption that changed his path --  _ forever _ . ” Liara looks up at her star map. “He’s still with you. His actions still matter. Your moment together still exists out there...and in here,” she rests a hand on Shepard’s heart. Shepard curls her fingers around Liara’s. 

“I love him,” Shepard whispers, her eyes sick with grief.

“He knows,” Liara says. She eases Shepard’s heaving form down onto the bed and stretches out beside her. 

They lay there in silence, gazing at the glittering star map until Shepard finally succumbs to her fatigue. 

Liara carefully pulls the datapad out from under Shepard’s hip, and extracts Thane’s mug from her limp fingers. She places them on a shelf nearby for Shepard to retrieve in the morning. She tucks a soft white blanket around her slumbering friend, smoothing back her tangled fuchsia locks. 

“Goddess, help her,” she whispers. 


	6. Atlas Wept

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Graphic (non-sexual) depictions of violence, torture, and an atrocious human rights violation of a vulnerable person.

My stomach lurches as the elevator drops sharply. Shepard seizes a nearby console to keep her balance, while Tali and Garrus’s backward-jointed knees keep them stable. Grunt lets out an amused chortle, his enormous bulk smashing into the metal panel behind him. I broaden my stance as smoke rises in the confined space.  

A female V.I.’s voice sounds over an intercom, calm in lunatic juxtaposition with our circumstances.

“This elevator is not in service. Please choose another.” 

The elevator hangs suspended between levels, then abruptly rises for approximately twenty metres. I teeter backward a moment, then shift my weight forward. Shepard is thrown against her console. Tali catches Garrus’s wrist as he staggers, and both manage to keep their feet. Grunt slips and crashes to the ground. He chuckles again, and pulls himself back up. “This is great, Shepard! Can we get the Normandy’s elevator to do this?” 

Exasperated, Shepard shakes her head. “ _ No, _ Grunt!”

Smoke continues to billow into the enclosure. I edge away from it and lower my face toward clearer air.

“This is a non-smoking facility. Please extinguish all cigarettes.” 

“It isn’t  _ us _ ,” Garrus protests. 

“We’ve got to get off this elevator,” Shepard snaps. “We’re at the V.I.’s mercy in here.” 

The intercom crackles, and Gavin Archer’s petulant voice emanates from the speaker. 

_ “Archer log 168.4: I’d be lying if I said no harm could come to David. His autistic mind is as alien to me as an actual alien’s. Anything could happen when we plug him in. But I have to try, don’t I?” _

Garrus and Tali exchange confused glances. Grunt squints at the intercom. 

“That bastard told us his brother  _ volunteered _ for this,” Shepard’s voice is low, dangerous. “He left out the ‘autistic’ part.”

“Autistic?” Tali queries, still gripping Garrus’s arm for balance. 

“It’s a genetic neurosensory condition in humans. The brain processes information differently, so certain skills are sometimes enhanced, but others are harder to learn.” Shepard’s eyes appear far away as she speaks, “It can involve serious social and communication barriers.”    

“Then how could his participation...have been voluntary?” I grate, coughing, my respiratory distress making it difficult to speak. “If David’s mind is truly ‘alien’ to his brother...then Gavin cannot have been certain he...comprehended the risks…” I draw in a ragged breath. Just as I am reaching to extract my O 2 controlling recon hood from a concealed pocket, a fan activates in the ceiling and begins to evacuate the smoke from the enclosure. I draw deeper breaths to recover lost oxygen.    

Garrus’s brow-plates arch upward, giving him a wry expression. “I doubt research ethics were high on this guy’s list of priorities -- it sounds like the Illusive Man was ready to pull the plug if he didn’t get results.”  

“Cerberus doesn’t care  _ who _ they hurt to get what they want,” Tali agrees, her voice sullen. 

Cold rage creeps into Shepard’s eyes as she listens to us, like ice crystals forming on a glass surface. I have not seen her this angry since our mission to the Collector vessel. “We’re shutting this experiment down. The Illusive Man can fire me if he doesn’t like it.”  

The elevator begins to move again, smoothly upward now. The door opens without incident upon a large, glowing terminal. 

We spill out of the elevator, cautious, still unsteady from the disconcerting ride. Shepard approaches the terminal. As she does so, an enormous, ghoulish green holographic image of a distorted face springs up before her. Hideous shrieking fills our ears, shrill and incomprehensible.

Or...is it? Wincing with pain, I review the digital howling in my mind, until words emerge from the chaos: 

_ “Please. Make it stop.” _

The wailing dies down at last, but the disembodied face continues to watch us as we cluster around the terminal. Tali withdraws her omni-tool and begins scanning the system. Grunt is still clutching his ears, muttering angrily to himself. 

“This is it, Shepard. The V.I. control terminal. We can try to shut the experiment down from here. That big button will power up the interface,” Tali informs her, gesturing to a large, glowing activation button in the center of the console. 

Shepard looks over her shoulder, motioning us back away from the terminal. “Get ready. I wouldn’t be surprised if this button summoned a Reaper.” 

As we withdraw, Garrus makes a face behind Shepard’s back, wisecracking to Tali in a barely audible murmur, “She always gets to push the big button.”

“Watch it, Vakarian,” Shepard warns, a ghost of a smirk touching her mouth as she extends her omni-tool toward the glowing button.  

Arcs of electricity spring up from the terminal, engulfing Shepard’s arm. She jolts upright, stunned, as her omni-tool distorts and emits chaotic bursts of energy. 

“Uhh...that’s not good,” Garrus says with alarm. 

My hand shoots out and I grasp Shepard’s shoulder. A shock runs up my left arm, but I ignore it, holding her firmly. “Shepard,” I turn her toward me, peering at her face. Her eyes are...wrong. They radiate a vivid, electric blue. The cybernetic implants at the base of her skull and her clavicle glow through her skin. She looks right through me and shrugs out of my grip, stumbling away.  

“Shepard?” Grunt is puzzled as she staggers into the elevator and falls to her knees. Shepard’s left hand, haloed in the distorted green light of her malfunctioning omni-tool, snakes up to the control console. 

“No -- Shepard, wait!” I exclaim. Garrus and I dash toward the elevator, but it snaps shut in our faces. A glowing red auto-lock engages. 

Furious with myself, I slam my fist into the door. Garrus drops down and begins to examine the lock.  

“ _ Keelah _ \-- I keep forgetting Shepard is a cyborg now.” Tali smacks the side of her helmet, and runs her omni-tool along the console. “The V.I. must have infiltrated her implants.” 

I join Garrus in scanning the elevator door for weaknesses. It is solid steel, and in excellent repair, with no clear vulnerabilities I can exploit with my infiltration gear. Cerberus has funded this project lavishly. 

“Grunt, do you suppose you could force this open?” I ask.

Grunt grins widely. “Dunno -- but it’ll be fun to try.” He cracks his knuckles.  

“No!” Tali shouts. “If we damage the door it’ll activate the elevator’s emergency bulkheads -- we’ll be trapped on this level. We have to decrypt the lock.” 

Grunt stands down, disappointed. Clenching my teeth with frustration, I turn from the door and begin to pace. Tali notes my restlessness and approaches me, taking my arm and guiding me away from the others while Garrus initiates decryption sequences on the electronic lock.

“We'll get that door open, I promise,” Tali says, her voice low so Garrus and Grunt cannot hear. “There's still a human intelligence controlling that V.I. Did you notice how the elevator stopped ‘malfunctioning’ as soon as Shepard said we were shutting down the experiment? Gavin’s Archer’s research audio-logs have been playing every time we access a computer terminal...I think David is doing it intentionally to show us what really happened.” Tali crosses her arms. “And...this is _Shepard_ we’re talking about. She’s a born negotiator. I watched her broker a truce with the _rachni queen_. A...giant...spider, Thane. She didn’t even flinch. She’s going to work this out.” 

“Shepard is remarkable, but she is not invulnerable,” I whisper. “I cannot allow her to come to harm, Tali.” 

Tali’s eyes glow at me through violet mist. “You can’t help her by bashing down that door, or by beating yourself up. What  _ can _ you do?” Her voice is firm, penetrating. I grasp onto it, steadying myself and regaining my composure.

“You and Garrus are more adept at decryption.” I pause, and then it comes to me, “I must pray for her.”

Tali nods and returns to the door, kneeling beside Garrus. I fall to my knees in a dim corner, giving voice to the fears that burn inside me. 

_ “Arashu, mother-creator,  _

_ Your siha treads in dark corridors, along which only you may follow.  _

_ She faces peril from without and within.  _

_ Lend her your divine grace.  _

_ Illuminate her path.”  _

I pause. 

_ “Lead her back to me.” _

I ought not to have uttered the last. It was a selfish conceit, something I had no right to ask. Yet the prayer was from my soul, which Arashu would know even if I’d chosen to stay silent. Arashu, too, knows the mortal frailties and errors born of yearning; a young goddess, and mother of our people, she has committed these sins herself. Thus, I can hope that she will forgive me my transgression.  

The minutes stretch out endlessly in the confined space of the control room. My prayer to Arashu complete, I resolve to calm myself with a meditation rather than obsessively consulting my omni-tool’s chronometer. 

_ I close my eyes and direct my focus inward. I see the burning, wind-swept red dunes of Rakhana; upon which I have never, and shall never, set foot, but whose borrowed images call out to my soul like an irresistible siren.  _

_ My face turns up to receive the dry, arid warmth of sibling suns, my eyes filled by their overlapping dull orange and searing pale blue auras.  _

_ I sit cross-legged, grounding my calves and thighs in hot, rough sand. I trace a pattern into the sand with my fingers, watching as the pattern takes shape, turning over all conscious thought to its unfolding.     _

_ Siha… _

Even immersed in my mental discipline ritual, my preoccupation has intruded -- I’ve etched a crude likeness of Shepard into the sand. Fortunately, after decades of practice with meditation, I have developed the ability to incorporate such intrusions productively.

_ I trace a circle around her, a ward against the raging storms that plague her journeys… _

“Thane!” Tali calls from the elevator. Blinking, I rise to my feet and approach her. 

“The interface terminal is fried. We’ve cracked the lockout on the door, but the elevator is still under the V.I.’s control. We’re going to pop the ceiling panels and climb up the service ladder in the shaft,” Tali points. Grunt has already pulled a crate into the centre of the elevator, and is humming tunelessly to himself as he tears rivets loose from the metal panels overhead. Another crate is wedged into the door frame to prevent it from closing. 

“We’ve got another problem. Our mapping and comm interfaces have been jammed by the V.I.,” Garrus explains. “We can’t track where Shepard has gone.”

“I may be able to pick up her trail,” I say. Tali and Garrus nod in agreement. I leap up onto the crates and assist Grunt in dismantling the elevator’s ceiling. 

We manage to clear an opening wide enough to fit Grunt’s prodigious bulk. I catch the lip of the opening in my hands and swing myself upward, hooking a knee on the edge and vaulting to the top of the car. Garrus boosts Tali from below, and I grasp her arms, pulling her up beside me. Both of us lean down to pull Garrus, top-heavy in his unwieldy turian armor, up through the opening. 

Grunt looks chagrined. “Uh-oh...how’m I gonna get up there?” 

“Steady yourself, Grunt,” I warn. My left arm prickles with the familiar sting of activated element zero, and I direct a biotic field toward the young krogan. As he realizes what I am doing, he breaks into a delighted grin. 

“Heh heh heh…” he chuckles as he rises, flailing, toward the opening. “Your biotics tickle, drell.” 

We seize Grunt as he clears the lip of the opening, guiding him carefully to the service ladder. I ensure he has both feet planted firmly on the solid metal rungs before dispelling the mass effect field. 

“ _Hrrgggh,_ ” Grunt groans as his full mass returns to his body. “I hate that part.”    
“Please, be still,” I urge my companions. They freeze, and I scan our surroundings, opening my awareness to potential signs of Shepard’s passage. Even in the illuminated beam projected by my omni-tool’s emergency lantern, there is little to see in the darkened shaft, no marks or detritus to indicate her presence or direction (nor do I expect to see any, given that she would have passed through the elevator’s conventional portal). Hollow silence meets my tympanic membranes, punctuated only by our breathing and my own heartbeat. The elevator lodged in the shaft blocks most of the air currents moving up from beneath, but the faintest trace of a breeze dances up the service ladder’s enclosure. With it comes a hint of a familiar fragrance. 

“Aenyd,” I breathe. 

“Huh?” Garrus’s vocal sub-harmonics lilt upward in puzzlement.    

“A scented soap, formulated by the asari. It is a popular brand on the Citadel. The Commander purchased some during our last stop there...” 

_...she flits from stall to stall, her demeanor light, buoyant with our recent success. Coarse twists of braid shining, threads of gold, copper, chestnut falling over her armored shoulder, illuminated pink and blue neon in the fluorescent light of the Zakera marketplace. She reaches up to me. Proffers a square, lavender-hued package toward my nose. ‘Here, smell.’ Encompassing eyes sparkle with mischief. The fragrance of sun-warmed beaches fringed by unidentifiable alien flora fills my nostrils. ‘What do you think? It’s five hundred credits.’ ‘A bargain,’ I smile. Encourage her to indulge herself. It is but a fragment of the exaltation she is due.... _

I emerge from the memory to see the others staring at me with frank curiosity. Tali’s hand-on-hip stance and cocked head betray her knowing amusement, while Garrus’s crest is raised with incredulity. Grunt scratches his leathery neck, his tiny eyes glinting with mirth. 

I clear my throat. “The scent is coming from below. We must make haste.” 

Grunt begins the descent down the ladder, followed immediately by Garrus. As Grunt’s head disappears out of sight, I hear his voice issue upward as he whispers conspiratorially to Garrus, “Heh heh...he wants to mate with Shepard.” Garrus merely chuckles in response. 

My frills burn. Tali gives me a sympathetic quirk of her head as she hops onto the service ladder and scrabbles after Garrus. Swallowing my consternation, I follow suit. 

As we climb down, I remain vigilant for the scent of Aenyd, battling internally to avoid additional incriminating lapses into tu’fira. I note a stronger hint of the soap as we approach a portal three levels down from the elevator.

“The fragrance is more intense here,” I alert the others. They pause on the ladder, and I edge my way across the narrow metal ledge connecting to the exit portal. Sweeping my lantern’s beam along the polished steel floor and walls, I scan the entire threshold, searching for evidence of Shepard. A gleam catches my right eye -- a single, coiled strand of shining walnut, caught in the seam between the safety door and its metal frame. I pull it loose, closing my hand around the delicate thread of her hair. 

“Shepard has passed this way!” I call down to my squadmates. The auto-lock on the safety door glows red. I calm myself, running my thumb along the strand tucked into my fist. We are making progress.

Tali and Garrus clutch onto each other for balance as they edge along the slim walkway. I extend my hand to Garrus, helping to steady him as he descends onto the portal threshold. He turns to assist Tali. Grunt, too broad to balance upon the beam, again requires biotic assistance to traverse the distance between the service ladder and the portal. Bathed in the blue-violet biotic glow of my mass effect field, the krogan twists and chuckles as we seize him and pull him to safety. 

Garrus looks up at the door, his left mandible twitching with irritation. “Greeeat -- another lock.” He drops down and activates his omni-tool. “My shin plates are taking a real beating today.” 

“You’re wearing armor, you boshtet,” Tali chides him, elbowing her way in beside him to assist. 

“Yeah, but it pinches...” 

Grunt and I stand uselessly in the crowded threshold, trying to stay out of the pair’s way as they decrypt the lock. I am more successful than Grunt by virtue of my relatively compact form. 

“So…” Grunt begins, his baritone growl almost bashful. “Shepard, huh?” 

I devote every resource at my command to appearing neutral. “I beg your pardon?”

“She’s a worthy battlemaster. If she was krogan I’d…” Grunt pauses, and looks distant. “Heh heh…but human women only have  _ two  _ \--”   

“At this juncture, I am far more concerned with her survival,” I cut in, my voice more curt than necessary. 

“What, Shepard’s?” Grunt looks confused. “She’s killed a Reaper, three thresher maws, a thorian, armies of geth and Collectors...she won’t let a stinking computer virus beat her.”

“This enemy attacks from within,” I protest. 

“You mean those chips Cerberus shoved in her? Those can’t stop Shepard. She’s got a quad bigger than yours -- or mine,” Grunt growls. “You dishonor her and our krantt, drell. She’s not some damn, snivelling pyjak caught up a crag, waiting to be shot down.” 

I freeze as the truth of his words sinks into my soul. Staring at the hulking adolescent, I swallow back a pang of shame. 

Shepard is a  _ siha _ **,** one of Arashu’s chosen **.** My body’s need for her proximity had obscured my soul’s faith in her fortitude, her resourcefulness, her divine grace. My consuming fear for her had been undergirded by my yearning to impress her, to come gallantly to her aid. And...to redeem myself through such a rescue for my neglect of Irikah and Kolyat. What paltry protection might _ I _ provide to exceed that which Arashu has bestowed upon her? 

“You are correct, Grunt,” I concede, abashed. “Forgive me.” 

He snorts. “You’re probably just worried ‘cuz you  _ like _ her.” 

I let out a slow breath. “Perhaps,” I relent.  

“Heh heh heh.” 

“Got it!” Tali’s lilt is triumphant. 

“Let’s go,” Garrus stands and waves his arm as the door slides open. We burst through, Garrus and Grunt on point, Tali and I respectively assuming the left and right flank. I unshoulder my Mantis and hold it ready as we move down the silent corridor. Flickering lights illuminate our way as we come upon a large, open laboratory. I conduct a rapid visual scan of the room as Garrus and Grunt split up and cover the perimeter. Tali heads for a nearby console and activates her omni-tool, attempting to hack it. A playback of Gavin Archer’s personal log crackles from the computer’s speaker. Tali mutters a quarian curse which eludes my translator and steps away from the display. 

Steaming, ejected thermal clips litter the floor throughout the laboratory, and enormous scorch-marks cover the walls -- the Widow’s unmistakeable signature. A geth corpse lies slumped in the far corner, its head and most of its shoulders missing entirely. Four more destroyed geth bodies lay near a towering, blinking machine. 

Garrus calls from a table in the far corner, “Looks like Shepard looted the place already. The medi-gel’s all been siphoned from this kit.” 

“These geth are undoubtedly her handiwork,” I confirm. 

“Heh -- and you were worried,” Grunt chastises me with a gentle cuff to the shoulder that nearly sends me staggering into an adjacent desk. 

Tali approaches the machine on the opposite side of the room. “This is a geth server hub. Shepard blasted it. All the geth in this local neural cluster will be cut off from the consensus.” 

“Will that deactivate the remaining geth?” I ask hopefully. 

“No -- but it means they’re operating from their individual processors. They aren’t nearly as intelligent when they aren’t networked,” Tali explains. 

“Let’s keep moving,” Garrus urges. 

We continue past the laboratory, into a corridor filled with malfunctioning doors. 

“ _ Keelah, _ ” Tali groans. 

“Thane, can you, ah -- smell which way she went?” Garrus prompts.

I am already approaching the doors, trying to catch the scent of Aenyd amidst the acrid aroma of scorched geth, the warm tang of superheated steel. A floral note lingers on the right. “Here!” 

Tali brandishes her omni-tool at the door’s flickering auto-lock. It spits and hiccups, and the door stutters open a few centimeters. Grunt wedges his thick fingers into the crack and pulls at the door, his silver-plated biceps flexing. Rending metal screeches in our ears as Grunt peels the door back like the skin of a well-ripened fruit. 

We hop over its twisted ruin and hurry down the next corridor. Another pile of mangled geth awaits us at the end, still smoking. Two more doors flicker haphazardly to our left. I point to the door adjacent to the smouldering synthetic corpses. Tali disengages the lock, and the door slides open with unexpected ease. 

We burst into the room in time to witness Shepard lunging at Gavin Archer. Raising the stock of her terrible Widow, she smashes the scientist in the face, fury twisting her delicate features. Archer sprawls on the floor, blood pouring from his nose down the front of his Cerberus jumpsuit. He cowers, raising his arm to shield himself. Shepard hefts the Widow to her shoulder, fixing him in her scope. 

“Just give me one more reason, you son of a bitch,” Shepard whispers. Her finger is poised, trembling, on the Widow’s trigger.  

“Shepard,” I approach on her left flank. Every muscle in her body is tense, her face flushed, livid. I remain vigilant, sensing that in her current state, her blood up, her reflexes charged, she might just level that massive rifle at _me._ I dare not touch her. “He is unarmed.” 

Her jaw clenches. “You haven’t seen what he’s done.” She jerks her head toward a dais in the centre of the room beyond. 

Garrus and Tali are already approaching it. “Spirits,” Garrus evokes the turian deities in which he claims not to believe. 

“Quiet -- please, make it stop,” a piteous, muffled voice drifts from a gargantuan machine atop the dais. A pale, withered body is suspended inside, lost beneath a tangle of tubes and electrodes. Frozen in midair by a stasis module, the young human male’s head is imprisoned in a wreath of spikes, his neck immobilized by a cruel steel brace. Metal tubing has been forced into his mouth, down his throat. His eyes, wide and frightened, are clawed open with clamps. Tears trickle down his sallow, stubbled cheeks. 

The figure hanging in the machine is David Archer, the now-incapacitated Cerberus scientist’s adolescent brother.

“Arashu, lend me strength,” I breathe. 

With a hard shake of her head, Tali activates her omni-tool and approaches the machine, scanning the suspended young man and the control console to determine how to extract David from the apparatus. Garrus joins her at the terminal.  

“Please, don’t,” Gavin Archer weeps from his puddle on the floor, staring down the barrel of the Widow.

“Did you listen when  _ he  _ begged you not to put him in that thing?” Shepard grates through her teeth. 

“Siha,” in my urgency, the secret epithet once again slips unbidden from my tongue. “Do not do this.” 

“He doesn’t deserve mercy, Thane.” 

“No,” I agree, “but Kalahira will mete out her justice upon his soul. My only care is for yours.” 

Her finger relaxes away from the trigger. Her shoulders sagging, she engages the Widow’s safety. I release my pent-up breath. 

“I’m taking David away from here,” she tells him, her voice low now, threatening. “You even think about coming after your brother, and this bullet will be waiting for you.” 

Gavin Archer remains prone, weeping. 

“Square root of 912.04 is 30.2...please, make it stop,” David’s weak voice rises from the machine. 

“Grunt,” Shepard points to Gavin. “Keep this piece of human garbage out of my sight.” 

“Yes, battlemaster.” Grunt strides toward Gavin, a wide grin stretching across his face, exposing his gleaming, needle-sharp teeth. He flexes his enormous hands. 

Shepard lowers the Widow. I approach her, reaching out to touch her shoulder. She shrugs away from me with a soft, muttered negation, holstering the Widow and marching toward the dais. As she goes, she reaches up and signals Joker on her visor’s communicator. 

“Joker, we need a pickup, ASAP. Bring Mordin and Chakwas, we’ve got survivors in need of medical attention. One has been the victim of a brutal experiment. Tell Mordin to be ready.”  

“Yes, ma’am,” Joker says. For once, he makes no quip.

Shepard leaps up onto the platform. “Hold on -- we’re going to get you out of here,” she says to David, her voice soft. She paws at the electrodes and tubes. Her hands are shaking, enough that I note the tremor despite their concealment in her heavy gauntlets. When she comes upon the hideous neck brace, she freezes, her eyes wide.  

“Tali, status report,” her voice quivers, “How do we…” she gestures wildly to David’s face. “Oh god…” 

Tali looks up from her omni-tool, pausing her scans on the mess of metal and tubes. Garrus and I join them on the platform. 

“It looks like you’ve successfully disrupted the V.I. interface -- he’s no longer neurologically integrated with the geth consensus. Now we just need to get him out of this apparatus. It’s safe to remove the electrodes. Those tubes in his mouth can go, too, but be gentle, they’re lodged pretty far down his esophagus. We’ll need to remove the bracing mechanisms from his neck and head before we shut down the stasis field. Let me see if I can hack these locks.” Tali bends to examine a convoluted metal gadget at the center of David’s spine. 

“Don’t worry, buddy. We won’t leave you hanging.” Garrus wisecracks gently. I see David’s mouth curve upward ever-so-slightly around the tubes. 

Shepard, on the other hand, explodes on Garrus like a fraught thundercloud.  _ “Shut the  _ **_fuck_ ** _ up and get him out of there, Garrus!” _ The fury in her voice turns my blood to ice. Garrus recoils, his crest wilting. 

“Quiet -- please, make it stop,” David repeats. This time, I suspect, he is not referring to his brother, or the geth consensus.  

Silent and wary, I assist Shepard in peeling electrodes and wire leads from David’s arms, legs, and chest. Garrus reaches up to adjust a setting on his visor, and sets about extracting the tubes from David’s throat, darting occasional chagrined glances at the commander. Never before have I seen the sarcastic turian move with such hesitant tenderness. 

David weeps as we continue the grim work of extracting him. His frightened dark eyes pull me in, pleading. Innocent. Much like Kolyat’s, when I left him on Kahje. 

This time, I will  _ not _ turn away. 

The electrodes removed, I reach for the young man, testing to see if he will accept my touch. He does not flinch, so I grasp his hand with care. Kneeling on the dais, I bow my head. 

_ “Arashu, protectress of the vulnerable.  _

_ This one’s soul is pure.  _

_ Lend your succor to ease his torment. _

_ Quench his fears and quiet his mind.  _

_ Consign this violation to the dwindling shadows of his human memory. _

_ Ward his path from treachery and evil.  _

_ Lead him to those who will see his luminous soul _

_ and embrace him.”  _

I feel the young human’s weak hand squeezing mine. 

As I look up, I am met by Shepard’s stricken gaze. Her beautiful eyes are the trembling, storm-tossed seas. She nods almost imperceptibly to me, then suddenly turns away, raising an armored hand to her face. 

_ What is happening to you, siha?  _

With a shake of her head, her shoulders rise squarely and she addresses Tali.

“Almost done with those braces?” 

“Nearly,” Tali fiddles with the settings on her omni-tool, then passes it over a mechanism along David’s spine. It gives a faint pop, and springs open. “Got it!” 

Shepard and Garrus reach for the neck brace. 

“Wait,” Tali stops Shepard, her hand grasping her forearm. “It’s still attached to the eye brackets. Here, let me,” Tali reaches up and delicately retracts the clamps from David’s eyes. With a low moan of relief, he finally closes them. 

“Got it,” David echoes Tali. 

“Okay, now you can remove them,” Tali directs Garrus and Shepard. They pull the barbarous mechanisms away, Shepard throwing the thorny halo aside with disgust. David’s head slumps down toward his chest. Thin rivulets of blood trickle down from multiple puncture wounds in his forehead and temples. Garrus activates his omni-tool’s medi-gel dispenser and dabs the gel onto David’s injured skin. 

“There are...two more attachments that need to be removed.” Tali says, shuffling her feet and gesturing. Garrus and I see to them, careful to preserve as much of the young man’s dignity and comfort as possible as we remove his catheter and elimination tubes.     

“Garrus - Thane. Hold him. I’m shutting down the stasis field.” Shepard orders. We flank the young man, bearing his weight as Shepard smashes her fist into the console, deactivating the stasis generator. David falls into our arms. His pale skin is clammy, bluish.  

“He’s freezing! Are there any blankets or clothes in this damned torture chamber?” Garrus glances about the bare laboratory, seeing nothing of immediate use. 

I unfasten the catches on my leather surcoat with haste, and shrug out of the garment. Checking to ensure none of my concealed knives are protruding, I wrap the young man in the long jacket. “This will do until the shuttle arrives.”  

“This will do,” the young man echoes, his voice faint, his swollen eyes still closed as he leans on Garrus and I for support.  

Shepard paces. “Joker, what’s your ETA?” she barks into the comm. 

“Just touching down near your position now, Commander. Mordin and Chakwas are standing by to receive casualties.”  

“Let’s move, people!” Shepard waves us on.  

David is unable to walk. Garrus and I catch him under the arms, supporting his weight. Shepard and Tali take point, leading our way to the landing pad and laying waste to the few remaining, disoriented geth that stray into our path. Grunt spurs along a whimpering Gavin Archer. 

It takes approximately fifteen minutes to reach the shuttle pad. David cringes away from the piercing sunlight as we exit the base, his damaged eyes watering. Dr. Chakwas and Mordin wait outside the shuttle’s entry hatch with stretchers and medical supplies. 

“Chakwas, patch up the bastard with the bloody nose and send him on his way,” Shepard instructs with icy detachment. Although taken aback, Chakwas complies with an efficient nod. “Garrus. Thane. Help David onto that stretcher. Mordin -- this is the experiment victim. Please...help him.” 

With care, Garrus and I maneuver David onto the stretcher. Mordin crouches and performs a series of rapid scans. Shepard watches from a distance, her eyes burning. 

“Patient in shock. Hypothermia. Malnourishment. Dehydration. Neurochemical imbalance. Ocular damage. Abrasions to esophagus, superficial external lacerations. All treatable.” Mordin pauses for breath. “Administering analgesics now. Garrus. Blankets in shuttle. Must raise patient’s body temperature,” Mordin instructs.      

Garrus springs off to retrieve the blankets. I stay at David’s side. He continues to clutch my hand. 

Chakwas finishes applying first aid to Gavin Archer’s smashed nose and face. “The bleeding has stopped, and the injection will help with the pain. You will need follow-up care and cosmetic surgery to repair the cartilage.” 

“I think Dr. Archer can arrange for those on his own,” Shepard is cold. “Now crawl back in your hole where you belong, Gavin.” 

“Wait -- please. At least let me say goodbye,” Archer is pitiful. 

“Do it, then -- he can hear you from there,” Shepard spits. She waves an arm at Grunt, who begins to herd the Cerberus scientist back toward the base.  

“David...I’m sorry. I didn’t mean...it all seemed...harmless…” Archer cries out to David, who makes no indication that he’s heard his brother. As Archer disappears into Atlas Station, David finally whispers, “...it all seemed harmless…” 

Shepard wheels around and stalks away from the shuttle. She stands at the edge of the landing pad, looking out over rocky cliffs flanking a serpentine silver river.    

Garrus returns with a pile of blankets. “I warmed these up on the Eezo manifold,” he explains. Mordin points to my surcoat. 

“Thane, remove garment from David. Garrus, apply blankets.” 

As I reach for him, David sits up, clutching my jacket tighter about himself. “Square root of 918.09 is 30.3...this will do.” 

Chakwas has joined us, and is swabbing David’s visible lacerations with a bitter-smelling antiseptic. The delicate creases surrounding her sapphire eyes deepen with sympathy. “I think your armor makes him feel safe.” 

“I have other surcoats,” I concede. “You may keep this one, David. However, I should retrieve my weapons.” 

David does not resist, and watches with interest as I withdraw several daggers, spare thermal clips, and small explosive devices from the garment. He allows Garrus to tuck the blankets about him. Their warmth lulling him, his eyelids begin to droop. 

“Load stretcher onto shuttle,” Mordin instructs us.  

Garrus, Grunt, and I ease the stretcher up the ramp. Once aboard, Mordin and Chakwas secure it in place with a safety harness. I watch from the viewport as Tali jogs out toward Shepard, taking her by the elbow and nodding toward the Kodiak. After a pause, Shepard turns away from the vista and joins us onboard. She says nothing, her dark eyes radiating hidden sparks of amber and emerald amidst angry, swollen capillaries, the paint around them faintly smudged. 

_ ___________________________ _

The Illusive Man’s form glimmers in the center of the Q.E.C. as we look on, out of his sight, from the perimeter of the conference room. “Shepard, you have my word, I knew nothing about Archer’s intention to use his brother to test the Project Overlord V.I. interface. I wasn’t even aware the boy was present on Aite. Archer’s last official report on Overlord contained nothing but a summary of unsuccessful computer simulations.” 

Shepard narrows her eyes at the flickering hologram seated with his legs crossed, a cigarette poised between his fingers. “You threatened to cut Archer’s research funding if you didn’t get immediate results. He seems to think you forced his hand.” 

“I won’t apologize for putting pressure on my science teams to deliver, Shepard. We need to advance quickly to protect humanity from our enemies -- the geth, the Collectors, the Reapers. Archer’s methods weren’t ideal, but they might have led to a major breakthrough in countering future threats from the geth. You should know the stakes better than anyone.” 

“Weren’t _ideal?_ Do you recall your Earth history, you _callous sonofabitch?_ ” Shepard explodes at him, and I flinch, my neck and shoulder plates contracting. “What happened the _last_ time certain organizations decided to play mad scientist on people who were arbitrarily deemed ‘less human’? The Holocaust? The Nuremburg trials? Hiroshima? Bikini Atoll? Outpost 24? The L2’s? Atrocities like Gavin Archer’s threaten all that humanity has struggled to become. We lose that, we lose every part of ourselves worth saving -- everything I’ve spent my _fucking_ _life_ fighting for. _Nothing_ can justify what I saw down there...” I hear the quivering in Shepard’s voice toward the end, and I clench my fists in dismay. _Dammit not now, Shepard, don’t you_ ** _dare_** _let him see you break…_

Ignoring Shepard’s outburst, the Illusive Man leans forward, his expression predatory. “There is still the matter of what to do with the boy.  His ability to communicate with the geth is valuable, Shepard. There may be less invasive ways to capitalize on his abilities.” 

“ _ No.  _ He’s going somewhere safe, where he can recover from this nightmare. There aren’t going to be any more experiments.” The iron of command confidence has returned to Shepard’s voice, but I still see the tremor in her movements, betraying her barely-contained rage. 

“That’s a very short-sighted decision,” the Illusive Man sighs.

“It’s mine to make.” 

He shakes his head. “I won’t interfere. But I’m disappointed that you can’t see the utility of this research.” 

“I’m disappointed that you refuse to distinguish between legitimate research and torture,” she snaps back, her voice cold. 

“Shepard,” he sucks in a lungful of smoke and blows it out through clenched teeth. “It’s clear you’ve been emotionally compromised by this mission. I don’t know why, and frankly, I don’t care. Just get past it.” 

“I’m not compromised, and I’m not wrong.” Shepard bites off each word. 

Arrogant, he waves Shepard off, turning his back to the commander.  

With a low curse, Shepard steps back and deactivates the Q.E.C. The image of the Illusive Man melts away and the conference table rises back into place. Shepard presses her fists into the console, her head bowed. Chakwas and Mordin have escorted David Archer to the medical bay, but Tali, Grunt, Thane and I are all waiting in silence, and Miranda has joined us, a datapad tucked under her right arm. 

“Shepard,” Miranda pushes forward. “David Archer needs to be transferred to a facility. We can’t care for him long-term on the Normandy, and with the right training, he could--”

“I’ll take care of it, Miranda,” Shepard cuts her off, her face a gathering thundercloud. 

“Cerberus has several appropriate--”

“ _ I said I’ll take care of it, _ ” she growls through her teeth, looking up at Miranda with wrath. 

Miranda’s eyes narrow in confusion. Tali’s hand shoots out and grasps Miranda’s upper arm. The angelic quarian gives a sharp shake of her helmeted head. “It’s been a long day, Miranda. Come on, I’ll give you my mission report first.” Tali nudges Miranda toward the door of the conference room. Looking disgruntled, Miranda allows Tali to lead her away. 

Grunt scratches his left bicep and cracks his neck. “I’m starving. Anyone else headed to the mess hall?” 

I look at Shepard, my stomach wrenched with anger and shame. “I don’t think so, Grunt. Something seems to have killed my appetite.” 

Shepard continues to stare down at the console, saying nothing. 

“How about you, drell? Hungry?” Grunt nods at Thane.

“I have no desire to eat at the moment,” Thane replies. “However, I will accompany you if you wish. I would like some tea -- and if you’re particularly famished, perhaps Sergeant Gardner will allow you to take my evening’s rations.” 

Grunt chuckles with approval at Thane’s suggestion. 

“Shepard?” Thane turns to her with an imploring look in his impractically large black eyes, but she refuses to meet them. “Would you care to join us?” 

She gives a short shake of her head. 

“Okay, let’s go get some grub. I hope Gardner made something with lots of meat in it…” Grunt claps Thane companionably on the shoulder as the two exit the conference room. I stand across the table, and continue to watch Shepard. 

“So -- do you want to yell at me some more? Or maybe we can just skip that part, and you can tell me what’s really bothering you?” I ask, my subharmonics sharp. 

“You know damned well it wasn’t the time for lame humour, Garrus,” Shepard shoots back, defensive. 

“Oh bull _ crap _ ,” I snap. “Even  _ David _ thought it was funny. And I’ve made way worse jokes before.”

A weak, almost undetectable smile touches the corners of Shepard’s mouth. “Like when we found Liara paralyzed by a stasis beam behind that containment shield on Therum, and you told her to ‘wait here’ while we looked for the override switch?” 

“Hey, that was a great joke,” I protest. 

Shepard looks down at her hands, still clenching the conference table. “I’m sorry I yelled at you.”  

“Shepard...what happened down there?” I ask her, my subharmonics softening.    

“I couldn’t…” she starts, but her voice cracks again, and she stops, shaking her head. 

“How come you manage to fix everyone else’s problems, but yours end up shoved in a footlocker at the bottom of your closet?” 

“That’s how it  _ has _ to be, Garrus,” she insists. “Would a turian military officer share her personal problems with soldiers under her command?” 

“No, she wouldn’t,” I admit. “But she  _ also _ wouldn’t help them settle an ill-advised vendetta, or investigate their dad’s missing cargo ship, or save their son from a life of crime.” 

“I did those things for the team. I need all of you at your best.”

“I know you, Shepard. You would have done it all anyway,” I chide. “Dammit, why won’t you let anyone help you?”

She sets her jaw, stubborn. “Sometimes...it’s hard to live up to my own image, Garrus. But I still have to do it. You all need me to be the soldier who survived the Skyllian Blitz. The N7 marine who became the first human Spectre. The starship commander who defeated Saren, and Sovereign, and the geth, and the thorian, and the rachni...and who  _ came back from the dead _ to fight the Collectors and the Reapers. You don’t need a scared, sad little girl, who…” she stops again, and looks up at me, her voice thick. “I know you want to help, and that means a lot to me. But keeping your respect is more important.”

“You’ve won my respect a thousand times over, Shepard. There’s nothing you could ever do to lose it.” My voice grates, and I grimace. “You should know that by now.” 

She hangs her head. “I know. I’m sorry.” 

I sigh. “It’s okay. I know it’s hard for you to talk about...stuff. Really,” I concede. “And I get it if you can’t talk to me. To be honest, I’m pretty terrible at it.” 

That small smile reappears on her face. “I never noticed, Garrus.” 

I chuckle. 

Shepard’s face grows serious again. “You’re  _ not _ terrible at it,” she says, her voice quiet. “I just can’t...you’re my X.O., Garrus. I can’t put you in that position.” 

“Okay, but...Shepard…” my voice takes an awkward twist. I know what she needs to hear, but it’s not exactly my place to say it. 

She looks up at me, expectant. 

_ Hells,  _ I submit.  **_Someone_ ** _ has to clue her in.  _

“Well -- maybe you’re right that  _ most _ of the crew would see you differently - feel a bit less confident, a bit less invincible -- if it turned out the great Commander Shepard were mortal after all,” I shuffle my feet. “But I happen to know a guy whose faith in you...borders on ridiculous. Someone who could catch you snorting red sand and reading Fornax in Grunt’s underpants, and  _ still _ follow you through the Omega 4 Relay.” 

“Come on, Vakarian. Your image of me isn’t  _ that _ unshakeable.” 

“Sure it is, Shepard -- but I’m not talking about  _ me _ .” I lower my voice. “And I’m not talking about Jacob, either. He’s all right, but I don’t think he really _ gets  _ you.” 

Shepard freezes, looking at me in confusion. “Then who-”

“C’mon,” I cajole. “I know you’re not blind, and for someone with his training he’s not hiding it very well. Hell, the guy actually used the word  _ exaltation  _ to describe how much he enjoyed helping you shop for soap and rifle mods.” 

“Thane,” she whispers, her eyes widening.

I chuckle. “Trust me, Shepard. You could tell him anything, and he’d still think you shit rainclouds.”

Shepard lets out a helpless guffaw. “Garrus -- it’s  _ rainbows _ .” 

“You know what I meant!” 

Shepard stifles another giggle. “Okay, yes, I know.” 

“Good.” I am emphatic. “I’ll sleep well knowing you’re in top form for our date with death.” 

“Just when I was starting to feel a bit better…”    

We both chuckle again. My shoulder plates relax apart, my chagrin at her earlier violent outburst fading away. 

“I’m going to head down to the mess hall, after all,” I concede, my appetite returning. “Not that I’m looking forward to Gardner’s latest take on turian cuisine, but...oh hell, the poor guy does his best.” 

“You go ahead,” Shepard instructs me. “I’m going to turn in early.” 

“You need to eat,” I frown. 

“I will,” she promises, palms out. “I’ve got rations stashed in my cabin. I just...need to be alone for awhile.” 

“Okay,” I relent, and leave her standing by the Q.E.C., a small, tired figure in the cavernous room. 

_ Okay.  _

_ ___________________________ _

Hours later, I lay in the quiet semi-darkness of my alcove, stretched out on my cot. The familiar low thrumming of the O 2 recycler is soothing, yet sleep will not come. I do my best to ignore the fingers of pain digging at my abdomen, squeezing my lungs. It is more difficult than usual; the day’s events have left my soul as restless as my body. 

In my short time at Shepard’s side, I have seen her witness the consequences of dozens of atrocities. Mass murder, torture, slavery, rape...even victims of _other_ brutal experiments. I have never, in all that time, seen her lose her composure as she had today. Never once seen her cry. Something is different about this mission -- something which has shaken her to the very core of her being. I want to go to her, to give her a safe place to voice her despair, yet she has turned away all attempts to console her, and I am loathe to press the issue merely to sate my own vain need for her. I am also somewhat ashamed to face her, chagrined by my less-than-helpful reactions throughout the mission. 

The swish of the automatic door startles me out of my contemplation. My heart gives a leap as I realize that she has chosen to come to me. 

Her footfalls stop just past the threshold -- she is trying to discern whether I am sleeping.  

“Shepard,” I call out to her, pulling into a sitting position.

“Thane. You  _ are  _ still up.” She appears at the foot of my cot. “Am I disturbing you?” 

“Never. Please, join me.” I gesture to a chair. Instead, she sinks down on my cot, drawing up her knees and hugging them. She sits motionless for some time, saying nothing.

I rise at last, feeling awkward. “Can I offer you something? Tea, perhaps?” 

She lets out a short laugh. “I’m not usually much for tea…oh, hell. Why not?” 

“I must first obtain hot water from the mess hall. Please...make yourself comfortable.”   

Shepard nods, and rests her forehead on her knees. Unsettled by her unarticulated distress, I shrug into a loose robe and knot it around my waist, then retrieve my cup from the table. I take my leave of her, slipping through the dimly lit corridor to the abandoned mess hall. 

As I heat water and rummage about for a spare cup for Shepard, I notice dim shapes moving in the glow of the medical bay. Training my left eye upon the movement, I recognize Jack’s shaved head bowed over Dr. Chakwas, the older woman’s hair a silver-blue nimbus in the light of her computer terminal. The biotic warrior’s facial expression and posture promise a storm of emotion, yet she offers neither threatening gestures nor obscene tirades. Instead, she flops into a chair by David Archer’s bedside, her arms crossed.  

I pour steaming hot water into the mugs, then retrieve them from the counter, returning promptly to the Life Support bay. I set the cups upon my table and select kel’fa, a moderately sedative blend, from my carved tea box. I prepare the infusions in silence as Shepard looks on, her arms still clasped about her knees. 

“Anyone still up out there?” Shepard asks. Her voice is different, like loose rocks skittering underfoot along a dirt path. 

“The mess hall is empty, but it appears Jack has joined Dr. Chakwas and David Archer in the medical bay.”  

“Jack?” surprise flits across Shepard’s face, followed by realization. “Oh, of  _ course _ …if anyone can understand what he’s just been through, it’s her.”

“Indeed. She attends at his bedside.” 

She gives another humourless laugh. “I should probably warn Miranda to steer clear of Jack for a few days, but you know…I really don’t feel like cutting her -- or Cerberus -- any slack right now.” 

“Cerberus has been doing a good deal of apologizing of late,” I hand Shepard a fragrant, steaming mug. She takes it carefully. 

“The Illusive Man claims he had no knowledge of what Gavin was doing -- just like he had no idea about Jack and the other children at the Teltin facility on Pragia. He has a dirty habit of ducking responsibility whenever shit hits the fan.” Shepard holds the tea up to her nose, and a dubious look crosses her face. 

“Yet he never fails to reap the benefits when his science teams take these shortcuts through living tissue.*” 

“Every time I start to think maybe -- just  _ maybe - _ \- the Illusive Man is on the right side of things, something like this happens. It’s important...these reminders of what he really is…” Shepard takes a tentative sip of her tea, then screws up her face, coughing. “Gck. Thane, what  _ is _ this?” 

“Kel’fa. One of the few plants saved during my people’s exodus from Rakhana.”

“Your homeworld?” Shepard pauses, considering the mug. “It’s...pungent.”

“It is an acquired taste,” I admit. “However, it is also a sedative -- something we can both use at the moment.”   

“Fair enough,” Shepard raises the mug again, swallows painfully, and grimaces. 

I continue to stand by the table, uncertain what to say. I adjust my robe.  

“I’ve never seen you wear that before,” Shepard comments. “It’s nice. You look...relaxed. Like you’re on vacation.” 

“I...thank you,” I say, my throat growing warm. 

Shepard favors me with a smile that further increases my body temperature. Then she looks down at her mug. “I’m sorry, Thane. For today. For...everything.”  

Rather than presume what she feels she must apologize for, I wait for her to continue. She tucks her knees in closer under her chin. “Have you ever heard of Mindoir?” 

Her unexpected non sequitur startles me. “Yes. A human farming colony. Raided by the batarians in 2170. The inhabitants were all massacred.” 

“ _ Almost _ ...all.” Shepard’s voice is barely audible. “A few of us were rescued by Alliance marines.” 

_ Goddess of oceans.  _ There is nothing appropriate to say. I circle the table and sit beside her on the cot. 

“I was born on Mindoir. My entire family were there, all of my friends. Everything, everyone I’d ever known. I was sixteen when the batarians razed the colony.” Shepard stares out at the Tantalus core. “I had a brother, two years younger. His name was Paul. He was born with a condition called Lewinson’s syndrome, caused by in-utero exposure to a virus native to Mindoir. It’s not quite the same as autism, but it’s close enough. He couldn’t talk, couldn’t read or write. Communicated using images on a datapad. He could fix any machine you put in front of him. And he sang. All the time. Never with any words. But he had the most beautiful voice I’ve ever heard.” 

She pauses, smiling at the memory with tears brimming in her eyes. “The colony’s school wasn’t equipped to teach Paul. He stayed home with a private tutor while I went to regular classes and my parents worked in the field, so we were separated when the batarians came. I...when they hit the school, I managed to hide in the confusion, avoid the raiders. I tried to get home...as fast as I could...” She buries her face in her knees. “I was too late.”  

My hand finds itself in the autumn twilight riot of her hair, which she has recently loosed from its twists and braids. Human hair is unlike anything else I have touched -- thousands of filaments, hers coiled into tight spirals. Full of life, and motion. Soft, but strong. 

“The tutor ran away and left him. Paul died alone, and scared. I would have given anything, Thane --  _ anything -- _ to save him. I would have died fighting the batarians with my bare hands so he could escape. It would have been an  _ honour  _ to do it. I loved him.” She lifts her face to look at me, her eyes overflowing. “David trusted that... _ bastard _ . He needed his brother, to care for him. To protect him _... _ and instead, he put him in that... _ thing _ …” 

“Siha...” 

Somehow she is in my arms, head cradled against my chest, tear-stained cheek slippery against my skin. I fear I must be radiating at her proximity, but she makes no complaint. My hand is still buried in her hair.            

“All I can see when I close my eyes are  _ his _ , open forever, sightless, frozen in terror...almost black, just like David’s...I can’t sleep, can’t get them out of my head…” 

I hold her against me for some time, until her breathing grows even, her body ceases its shaking. Only then do I speak.  

“I cannot fathom the losses you have borne. Your path...the enormity of what you must carry...it humbles me.” My hand moves through her hair. “Even more, I am in awe of your soul. You have fortified yourself to weather these losses, but without forfeiting the tenderness or the compassion that gives them meaning. When I lost Irikah to the batarians, I lost my body’s connection to my soul -- and it is only through  _ your _ intervention that I did not lose Kolyat, and... _ more _ ...because of it. Others who face atrocity grow callous in the face of it -- or worse, come to revel in the destructive force of entropy. But...not you.” 

“Sometimes I wish I could,” she whispers. “I really wanted to shoot Gavin. Thank you...for stopping me.” 

“You would have chosen to spare him, even had I not intervened.” I murmur into her hair. “Arashu moves you, siha...as you move me.”

She raises her head to look at me, eyes wide. “ _ I’m... _ ‘siha’?” 

The damnable fluttering takes my eyelids again, and I nod. 

“I thought…‘Siha’ was one of your deities. You say it...with  _ reverence _ . Like Arashu, Amonkira....the ones you pray to while we’re in battle.” 

“Not...quite,” I stammer, transfixed. She is so close to me that I learn forever the map of her irises, intertwined veins of amber-gold, emerald, and chestnut traced upon deepest onyx, and beyond the onyx, the hint of glowing red cybernetic implants -- her gift from Cerberus. Her cheek bears the faint imprint of scales where it lay against my chest, the dark threads of her hair mussed where my hand has passed through them, strands saturated by her tears, clinging to her face. I pull in a ragged breath, my pulse quickening. She is...radiant, as exquisitely painful to behold as a nearby star.

“What is a siha, Thane?” 

I swallow. “A warrior-angel of the goddess Arashu. Fierce in wrath. A tenacious protector.” I suck in another breath with difficulty. “I confess I’ve...come to care for you.”  

She draws in a sharp breath of her own. She says nothing, continuing to watch me with glistening eyes. Her tears smell of the sea. 

“Perhaps I’m being foolish…” I admit. “We are...very different...I’ve never…” 

My words are stolen away as her mouth finds mine. I succumb to its encompassing softness, the smell and taste of her. The kiss is dry desert heat, searing sunlight burning away the damp chill accumulated upon my soul. I sink toward her, starved for warmth, overcome with craving for her. My arms tremble as I pull her closer, needing to touch all of her at once. Her breath comes faster, her hands slipping beneath my robe. 

We are unschooled in the ways of each others’ bodies. I am well-versed in the vulnerabilities of the human form, and in bringing it swift pain and death -- yet I know nothing of how she needs to be touched, of what might bring her pleasure. Her hands and body slow, grow tentative, similarly uncertain how to proceed. We cling to each other, wanting...simply wanting. For the moment, it is enough.     

She breaks away to gaze up at me, smiling uneasily. “Thane…” 

“Yes, siha?” I touch her face.

“Were you always this...green?” She lets out an odd giggle. I blink with confusion. 

“I believe so,” I look at my hands. They do not appear inordinately verdant. 

“It’s very hot in here,” she remarks unsteadily. “My skin feels...itchy? And you are definitely more green...what was in that tea, again?” 

I sit bolt upright. “Chey’aula burn me,” I breathe. “It isn’t the tea. You’ve ingested my venom. It is not fatal to humans, but it can produce...unusual symptoms.” 

“Ohhhh right. Mordin warned me about that,” Shepard frowns. “I think he saw this coming. He got EDI to forward me some manuals, too…drell sexual practices, physiology...”

My blood is magma in my veins. “I...yes, they took the liberty of forwarding me some documents as well. I have not...I didn’t wish to presume.” 

“I haven’t read them yet, either. I thought they were joking. Technically...I’m still kind of dating Jacob,” she looks chagrined. 

“I have wondered about that.” I clear my throat. “I understand human sexual culture is still primarily fixed upon monogamous pair-bonding. It appears I may have...intruded.” 

“Well, not exactly,” she pauses, searching for words. “My attraction to Jacob is just...I wanted release, physical contact, a way to blow off steam. I figured he’d be someone I could trust. I’ve tried to extend that invitation to him repeatedly, and he just dances around it. I still don’t even know if he genuinely wants me, or if he’s just humoring me.”

“Then he is a fool,” I say sharply. “Your desire is a gift, not a carnival trinket to be toyed with and disposed of at his whim.” 

“You,” she whispers, giggling, “make my knees shake.”

My frills --  _ all _ of them -- are engorged, but I resist her. “That could be the venom. We should get you to med bay,” I am still worried about her reaction to the chemicals in my skin. 

“It’s not the venom -- it happens all the time. It’s...the things you say, the way you say them…” 

“Mmmm,” flattered, a contented rumble escapes my chest. 

“Still...I think you’re right about...the second thing.” Shepard’s eyes dart about. “Everything  _ is _ starting to look funny...how long does this last? We should go see Dr. Chakwas…” 

“I will assist you.” I wrap my arm around her waist, and help her to rise. 

“I’d better...talk to Jacob in the morning,” Shepard murmurs. “If Jack sees us in there, she’ll spread it all over the ship, if EDI hasn’t already.”

“Indeed.” We make our way to the med bay, shrouded in the dim corridor. Bluish light still glows from inside. We enter the bay, the doors hissing open. Dr. Chakwas, outlined against her computer terminal, turns toward us, concern etching her features. I spot a nearly-empty bottle on the shelf beside her, and a glass by her right hand. Jack is slumped down in her chair, head nodded forward on her tattooed chest, eyes closed. Another glass rests beside her on the floor. Her hand is wrapped protectively around David Archer’s. The young man, now swaddled in bandages as well as my leather surcoat, slumbers deeply. 

“Mr. Krios? Commander Shepard? What’s happened?” Chakwas’ voice is ever-so-slightly unsteady. On her breath I catch the sweet fragrance of asari ice wine.

“Perhaps I should go,” I begin. Shepard catches my wrist. 

“No,” she says firmly. “Doctor, do you have an antitoxin that works on....drell skin venom?” 

Chakwas looks from Shepard, to me, and back to Shepard. “Yes, I do.” She clears her throat, the corners of her mouth twitching slightly. “Do you need it now?” 

“Actually, I needed it about an hour ago,” Shepard deadpans. 

Chakwas fails to suppress her grin. “Mr. Krios, I’m pleased to see you’re taking my advice about increased cardiovascular activity so seriously,” she quips, retrieving a small labelled vial and loading it into her hypodermic infuser. Shepard rolls up her sleeve to receive the antitoxin, wincing as the infuser forces the medicine through her skin. 

“This antitoxin will stay in your system for about forty-eight hours,” Chakwas says. “You should be feeling better shortly.”

“Yeah, I’ll  _ bet _ she will be,” in the corner, Jack raises her head, grinning lasciviously. Chakwas lets out a snort. I straighten my robe, wondering uneasily what precise shade of purple my frills currently appear to be. 

“Laugh it up, ladies,” Shepard challenges. 

Jack shakes her head. “Fuck, I warned that dipshit.”

“What? Warned who?” Shepard demands as we stare at Jack in shared confusion. 

“Taylor. I told him you and  _ this _ fucking lizard were an inch away from tearing each others’ clothes off. He thought I was crazy. Dumbass,” she snickers. “I wouldn’t have lasted long outside Pragia if I didn’t know ‘fuck me’ eyes when I see ‘em.” 

“Very...astute,” I acknowledge. 

Chakwas explodes with laughter, clutching an empty bio bed for support. 

“You shouldn’t have taken that antitoxin, Shepard,” Jack teases. “You’re missing out on a hell of a trip.” 

“Are you two finished?” Shepard raises an eyebrow at the young biotic. 

“Please -- I’m just getting  _ started _ .” Jack rolls her eyes. 

“Jack is right about drell venom, Shepard. It isn’t dangerous -- it’s sold on Illium as a recreational substance. It could be...enjoyable...” Chakwas informs her, an impish look in her eye. 

Quite concerned the inebriated women are about to request permission to lick me (a predicament I’ve faced more often than I’d care to admit), I clear my throat. “How is David?” I ask, gesturing to the sleeping youth. 

Both Chakwas’s and Jack’s expressions turn sober. “He’s doing much better now,” Chakwas reports. “His vital signs are stable. Mordin and I administered sedatives and neurochemical stabilizers. What he needs now is rest, time...somewhere safe to recover from the psychological trauma.” 

“We’ll be at Grissom Academy in two cycles,” Shepard confirms. “It’s under Alliance jurisdiction. I contacted Councilor Anderson on a secure -- I  _ hope _ \-- channel. He’s arranged David’s referral. Apparently he’s well-acquainted with the head of the Academy.”

“He should be safe from Cerberus under Alliance protection,” I note.

“I’m not leaving him until he’s on the other side of the Academy doors,” Jack growls. “Miss Cheerleader Bitch and the Illusive Fucknut might get cute ideas in their heads -- like diverting him back to a nice, cozy Cerberus base where they’ll be  _ happy _ to help him right back into another fucking Nazi science fair project.” She bares her teeth. “They’ll have to drag him out over my steaming corpse.” 

“And mine, Jack.” Shepard’s voice is low, intense. 

“Glad to see we’re on the same page.” Jack’s smile is grim. 

“Shepard -- it has been a...trying day, and I fear you have gone too long without rest. Perhaps Dr. Chakwas has a stronger sedative than my tea to help you sleep,” I suggest.

“I’m fine,” she insists. The shadows beneath her eyes tell otherwise. 

“Shepard,” Chakwas says with a warning tone. “You always push yourself too hard. When did you sleep last?”

“It was...ugh. The Citadel, after we helped Kolyat.” 

“Shepard, that was three cycles ago,” I say with alarm.  

Chakwas approaches, brandishing her hypoinfuser. “Roll it back up,” she orders, pointing to Shepard’s sleeve, her voice brisk. Shepard makes a petulant face, but complies. 

“Mr. Krios, please help the commander up to her cabin. The sedative will take effect quickly, and I won’t have her passing the night slumped in the elevator.” 

“Of course, doctor. Your assistance, as always, is appreciated.” 

“Hurry off, you honey-throated scoundrel,” Chakwas scolds with a demure flicker of her eyes. 

Shepard leans against me for support, her eyelids beginning to droop. Thankfully there is not much distance to close between the med bay and the elevator. By the time Shepard and I are safely inside, she is beginning to lose her legs. 

“See...told you...make my knees weak,” Shepard murmurs, her head lolling against my shoulder. 

“Shhh....we are nearly there.” I support her across the elevator’s threshold, toward her cabin. The doors slide open, the security sensors keyed to her omni-tool’s electronic signature. Shepard makes it to the top of the steps leading down to her bedchamber, then sinks to her knees. I bundle her in my arms, carrying her the remainder of the distance. I settle her onto the bed, carefully removing her zippered boots, then tucking the covers around her. 

“Rest, Shepard,” I whisper into her ear. “I shall see you soon.” 

Her hand shoots up and catches behind my neck. “Don’t go,” she says, her voice thick with sleep, her eyes closed. “Lay here...with me.” 

“Are you certain…?” 

“I don’t mean  _ that _ . Too tired. Still…” she trails off, and for a few breaths I think she’s succumbed to her fatigue. “...need to read the manuals.”  

“Yes,” I agree with relief. 

“Just want you here.” 

“It is...my privilege.” I settle in beside her, feeling almost shy. She curls herself against me, her breathing growing deeper even as I hold her. I smooth back her hair as she begins to snore softly. 

“Siha,” I breathe against her neck. She smells of sleep, and Aenyd, and the sea. Closing my eyes, slumber begins to descend at last. As it takes me, I thank Arashu for this moment. 


	7. A Blade Waiting

I wake from a deep, dreamless sleep by slow degrees. The first thing I notice is a thin sliver of pain between my eyes, the trademark of a sedative-induced sleep. Then comes a sensation of warmth, of presence curved along my back, weighing down on my left arm. A smell, familiar to me but unfamiliar alongside the others in my cabin -- something like fresh-ground black pepper, sun-baked sand, the cleanness of the air after a hard summer rain, but not quite any of these, either. The scent reminds me of a taste, similar but stronger, spreading through my mouth, across my tongue. A warm, pleasant ache builds in my lower abdomen.  

I stretch out, and feel an answering stir of movement, a soft, low rumble of contentment against my neck. I shiver and open my eyes. I glance down as a dense, compact green arm tightens around me, drawing me closer. My heart jumps into my throat as fragments of the past day’s events punch abruptly through the thin membrane of my semi-conscious awareness. 

Turning awkwardly, I prop myself up on one elbow. 

“Thane,” I greet my drowsy companion. His eyelids flutter open, still heavy with sleep. I feel him give a mild start against me, an odd look crossing his face. Comprehension? I realize I still have difficulty reading his rare expressions. 

“Siha,” he rasps, his rough voice further thickened by slumber. 

“Hi,” I murmur, my cheeks burning. 

His arm loosens its grip, hesitant. “Did you sleep well?” 

“Yes...for once,” I admit, a bit surprised. “Uh...Thane, did we…?”

“No,” he is firm. “You...were clear that my  _ presence _ was all that you required,” he adds, sounding a bit wry. I chuckle, then wince as the movement triggers another lance of pain between my eyes. I rub my forehead. 

“Chakwas...sedated me again?” I have no recollection of how I ended up back in my cabin.

“Your memory has been damaged by the drug,” Thane realizes. “Shepard, my apologies. Perhaps I should go,” he draws back slightly.

“No, Thane,” I reach out, resting my hand on his neck. “I’m glad you’re here.” I study his strange, beautiful face. His enormous, gleaming black eyes-within-eyes, their frantic, darting green irises taking in everything. His narrow, straight nose and strong, angled brow-plates that give him his perpetually wry expression. The pale green ridges curling about his face and the crown of his head. The pentagon of deep green in the centre of his high forehead. And his mouth, with its faint, taunting bloom of rose at the centre. The memory of the kiss floods me, the feeling of his mouth on mine, unexpectedly soft, the peppery taste of him. My delighted shock at discovering the fork in his tongue. 

I feel heat radiating from his soft frills, which have deepened to a rich scarlet. Curious, I run my fingers along them. He shudders at my touch, his eyes closing. 

“S-siha,” he draws a ragged breath, “you may wish to...examine those manuals.” 

My eyebrows knit with confusion. “Okay, but why…” I freeze, realization dawning, “Oh, am I doing something inappropriate?”

“Yes,” he breathes. “Wonderfully...inappropriate.” 

I break into a grin. “Good.” I continue to caress his frills, tracing deep strokes from his clavicle to the ridge beneath his cheekbone. His breath quickens, his fingers gripping my arm hard enough to hurt. A wave of heat rips through me and I surge against him, claiming his mouth. A rasping moan escapes his chest as he curls his strong, dextrous divided tongue around mine. I sink into the kiss, drinking him in, his scent, the taut smoothness of his scales. 

He brings his hands up to my face and pulls away. 

“...wait,” he manages, out of breath. 

I watch him with amusement as he struggles to regain his composure. 

“Siha I...am at a loss. My previous lovers have all been drell. I will need to do some research before I can...mmm,  _ express _ ...all I would wish to.” 

“You know, I think I prefer the idea of discovering each other  _ without _ a map.” I resume exploration of his frills. He gasps, then seizes my wrist. 

“Please, siha,” he says, his voice grave. “I am also...concerned about proceeding while matters remain unresolved with Mr. Taylor.” 

I drop my arm, and my heart sinks. 

“Shit,” I curse. “Jacob…”

Thane pulls himself into a sitting position, arranging his silver-on-midnight blue patterned robe about his shoulders. “I do not mean to pressure you to address the issue with haste, or in any particular way. You have simply made it clear that the cohesion of your team is paramount. I do not wish to jeopardize that goal.” 

I sigh, searching his face. “You wouldn’t care if I was with both of you? Or if I broke things off with you and kept seeing him?” 

“Of course I would care,” Thane blinks. “I care for  _ you _ , and I have misgivings about Mr. Taylor. But it would not be my place, or my right, to interfere. You are not some bauble to be kept and displayed -- you are  _ siha _ . I give myself to you because my whole being yearns to do so. But I will accept only what you offer freely. I will  _ not  _ demand more.”

I fight another powerful urge to leap on him and...settle for squeezing his hand. “Jacob might not see things that way. Then again...I’m not even sure where he thought things were headed. Most of the time, he acted like I was twisting his arm.”  

“Hmmm…I am not convinced by his play at disinterest,” Thane ponders, appearing introspective. “Mr. Taylor’s distaste for me is obvious, and exceeds what I’d have anticipated given his knowledge of my history. My admiration of you has been...noticed by some of the crew, and word travels quickly. I have thus suspected his continued enmity to be rooted in his sentiments toward you. He is betrayed by his actions…” his eyes take on the familiar, faraway expression that signals his descent into a memory. 

“ _ Pale sun filters through arching treetops. She signals us closer. A pile of bodies. I approach to study the twisted, pungent remains. Notice different stages of decay. I meet her gaze. ‘Some of these bodies have been here for years. They appear to have been posed, perhaps as a warning message. The rest were killed recently.’ She smiles, nods her appreciation. Black Cerberus jumpsuit gleams in speckled sunlight. He rushes over. Hateful scowl sours his face. He moves across, steps between us. Touches her arm to lead her away. Glances back at me. Cold stare filled with contempt. Poisonous. Anger burns in my stomach. I feign indifference. Hold my ground as they continue forward. _ ” 

Thane blinks hard, and looks at me. “That was during our investigation of the Hugo Gernsback crash site on Aeia.”  

“Goddamn it,” I mutter, angry. “I gave him plenty of time to be up-front about his feelings. I certainly wasn’t shy about mine.” 

“If it will help maintain the peace, I shall do my best to avoid him,” Thane offers. “I’d prefer to forestall any sort of duel or arcane contest. That would go...badly…” Magnanimously, Thane doesn’t specify that it would go badly for  _ Jacob.  _

“A week ago, I would have laughed at you for thinking a duel was a possibility,” I wince, remembering the near-fatal biotic showdown between Jack and Miranda following Jack’s illuminating return to Pragia. “With any luck, it’s  _ me _ he’ll be mad at. It’s my decision.” 

“Technically, it is he who may force such a choice. Otherwise, there is no need for you to decide anything.” 

“I don’t think that argument will go over well.” 

“Perhaps not.” Thane folds his hands atop his knees. 

I rub my face with my hands. “It’s best if I have this out with him as soon as possible.” I glance at the chronometer on my bedside table, “0640 hours. Okay, it can wait until I’ve had my shower and coffee.” 

“Shepard, if you require more time to contemplate matters...” Thane urges.

“I finished contemplating last night, the moment I set foot in your quarters,” I admit. 

Thane blinks, and watches me in silence. I rise, smoothing my rumpled, slept-in tunic. “Ugh,” I groan, once again sifting through my scant handful of Cerberus-issue off-duty outfits. 

“What is it?” Thane leans forward with curiosity. 

“It’s these clothes. They’re really terrible,” I hold up a pair of tri-colored engineer’s overalls to demonstrate. They are a baffling combination of bulky and skimpy. 

“If they do not please you, why do you continue to wear them?” 

“I...lost everything when the Normandy SR-1 went down, including all of my personal effects. These are what Cerberus provided to replace them.” I pick up a short leather dress with a high collar, “Well, except  _ this  _ thing. Cerberus doesn’t make evening wear.” 

“That style is currently popular among wealthy socialites in Nos Astra,” Thane observes. 

“It’s a ‘gift’ from Kasumi. I’m helping her settle some old business, and she’s requested that I dress the part.” I wrinkle my nose, “ _ Not  _ looking forward to it.” 

“You have been to the Citadel and Nos Astra many times since you assumed command of the Normandy SR-2,” Thane points out. “Both ports have merchants who sell appealing clothing. It is...curious that you have not added to your wardrobe.” 

I stop riffling through the garments and look back at him. “You’re right. It is.” I sit on the edge of the bed. “I keep telling myself I’ve been too busy...but maybe it’s because there’s a good chance I’m about to lose everything again. Or maybe it’s superstition -- some fear of presuming a future where I’ll need more than guns and armor.” 

“I am reminded of your hesitation to obtain personal effects during our last visit to the Citadel,” he muses. “Your purchases were almost exclusively technical schematics and rifle modifications. Yet I question whether you truly have no need for things which simply please you.”  

“I  _ like _ rifle modifications,” I defend. “Also, that asari soap was really expensive.” 

Thane favors me with a ghost of a smile. “It happens that your soap is quite practical. It’s scent permitted me to track you after we were separated on Atlas Station.” 

“What?” My eyes widen in surprise, and a grin pulls at my mouth. “ _ That  _ was how you found me?” 

“It is a compelling fragrance.” 

“That is incredibly romantic,” my face grows hot. “Wait -- did the rest of the squad know you were following my  _ soap _ ?”  

“I lapsed into a poorly-timed recollection of you when I detected the fragrance,” Thane affirms, lowering his eyes. “Grunt found it particularly humorous.” 

“Oh, no…” I laugh.

“He also chastised me -- aptly -- for implying that you might require ‘rescuing.’” 

“You were worried about me?” 

“I ought not to have been,” Thane grates. “It was an unproductive conceit.”

“Well, I didn’t need to be saved from the geth, or the V.I.,” I concede. “But I was threatened. And you  _ did  _ come to my rescue.”        

“I did not feel particularly heroic,” Thane admits. “When you entered my quarters last night, I lay awake, preoccupied with certainty that my failings had jeopardized the mission.”                 

“Thane, you found me faster than anyone but EDI or Tali could have -- and they would have needed access to the internal sensor grid to do it.” 

“Garrus, Tali, and Grunt’s abilities were instrumental to our reaching you when we did,” Thane insists. “Garrus has an uncanny capacity to maintain steady hands and a sense of humour under fire. Tali’s technical abilities are matched by her leadership skills. And Grunt’s spirit and strength are simply indomitable. I am confident in direct combat, or when hunting a target, but I fear I have little to contribute to the smooth operation of a team.” 

“That’s bullshit,” I retort. “You stopped me from shooting Gavin Archer  _ in the face _ . You kept your head and comforted David Archer while I was having a meltdown and yelling obscenities at poor Garrus…” I feel a sharp twist of guilt remembering my turian friend’s sad, wilted crest, the almost imperceptible tremor in his left mandible. “You helped David the way I  _ wanted  _ to help him but couldn’t because I kept stumbling over my memories of Mindoir. Maybe you can’t see it yet, but you do a hell of a lot more than just hunt and kill. You have a way of seeing right to the center of people, and of situations, and anticipating where your intervention is most needed.” 

“I miscalculated with you, siha,” Thane lowers his face. “I over-anticipated your need for support following your confrontation with Gavin Archer.” 

“I pushed you away because I push  _ everything _ away when I’m upset. It’s how I survive in the moment, but it has a nasty way of rebounding on me once everything’s gone quiet. You were dead on about what I needed. And when I shrugged you aside, you backed off and waited until  _ I _ came to  _ you _ , and then you were just...there.” 

“I presumed you were merely in need of witness, not of council. Arashu moves through you, siha. Your strength is as hers,” Thane looks steadily at me. “Yet...I would urge you to consider that Arashu’s favor does not manifest solely as an internal resource.” 

I furrow my brow at him, “What do you mean?” 

“She has lent you the strength of many companions -- such as we may be.  _ Use _ us, siha. Lean upon us when you wish it. Take from us what you can. You...give much, and ask too little for yourself.” His eyes travel again to the scant handful of tunics and overalls in my locker. 

“Okay,” I agree, touched. I pick out a black one-piece jumpsuit with something like a thousand pockets on it, wincing. I stretch and start peeling off my day-old clothes to put them in the refresher. I shoot a flirtatious glance over my shoulder at Thane, who is watching with wide-eyed interest. “I guess you probably don’t shower, do you?” 

“No. Our species does not benefit from external contact with water, and our homeworld had very little to spare. What was available was reserved for drinking.”

“Too bad,” I give him my most wicked smile. “What do you do when you get dirty?” 

“Drell do not produce sweat as humans or asari do, and our skin contains sebaceous glands that expel contaminants, moisture, and bacteria -- so we do not get ‘dirty’ in the same manner,” he explains. “However, my people used to take great pleasure from sand-bathing in the dunes of Rakhana. There are no dunes or dry beaches on Kahje, so many of us purchase sand from desert worlds to...indulge ourselves.” 

I cock an eyebrow at him. “Did you bring any aboard with you?” 

Thane’s frills darken. “No -- but I know of a vendor on Nos Astra, an elcor merchant who carries a pleasant variety.” 

“If I can get some next time we’re on Illium, will you show me what to do with it?”  

“I...would like that,” he murmurs. 

“Would you like me to show  _ you _ what to do with my soap?” I dangle the invitation.

“You taunt me, “ a low, hungry rumble emerges from his chest.

“Do you want me to stop?” I inquire.

“Not at all,” his eyes sparkle, and he rises. 

“Shepard,” I jump as EDI’s blue form sprouts from a console near the aquarium. “Thane should not breathe the atmosphere in your shower enclosure. It will exacerbate his condition.” 

_ “EDI -- privacy protocol Shepard Delta,”  _ I snap venomously. EDI’s glowing holographic form flits back into the console.

I bury my face in my palm. “Sorry, Thane. I forgot about the humidity.” 

Thane inclines his head in a rueful manner. “It would have been worth the risk, siha.” 

I feel my skin growing hot again. “Five minutes. I’ll be out in  _ five minutes, _ ” I head toward the shower. 

“I will be here,” he promises. 

I shut myself in the enclosure, strip off my underwear and reach for the shower controls. I note the trembling in my hands and knees. 

_ Oh lord, are you in trouble.  _ I smile at my reflection in the mirror. Taking in the red veins glowing faintly beneath my skin, I realize that I’d stripped off my clothing in front of Thane without stopping to worry about the scars. 

_ You knew he wouldn’t care.  _ There had been no judgment in his eyes -- only wonder. 

I turn the water on cold to avoid releasing steam into my cabin, and take the fastest shower in recorded history. Shivering, hair plastered to my face, I dry off and pull on fresh undergarments and the black multipocketed jumpsuit. I leave the enclosure and find Thane standing near the entrance, studying the partially-filled model ship display case. He turns as I approach him, holding out a steaming mug. 

“For you, siha.” 

“Is this...more of your tea?” I ask, eyeing it with suspicion. 

“Coffee,” he explains. “I consulted with EDI regarding its preparation. It should be to your liking.” 

“Oh, thank you!” I take the cup and test it. “Just right.” 

“Did you assemble these model ships?” He asks, turning back to the display case, and the untidy pile of boxed models on the desk. 

“A couple of them -- Sovereign there, and the Destiny Ascension. Joker put together the Normandy SR-1 model before Cerberus woke me up,” I point. “Tali did the flotilla vessel and the geth ship, and Garrus the turian cruiser.” 

“Do you enjoy building them?” 

“I guess it can be relaxing once you get into it,” I shrug. “But the pile of unfinished boxes stresses me out.” 

_ It reminds you that you might not survive long enough to build the rest.  _

“Perhaps you find other leisure activities more restorative,” he speculates. 

“I can think of a few,” I give him a suggestive look. 

“I was serious, Shepard,” Thane protests.

“So was I,” I smile. He knits his brow at me. “Oh fine -- I like my aquarium. Does that count?” 

“Perhaps. Your tropical fish are quite soothing,” he relents. 

“I like coffee,” I add, taking a long sip and shuddering as the caffeine starts to hit my bloodstream, “and alcohol. And sometimes dancing. But only  _ after _ the alcohol.” 

“Your dancing is somewhat legendary among the crew,” Thane’s mouth takes a wry twist that betrays the tact of his words.

“I know I’m not good at it,” I admit. “That isn’t the point. I like it because it’s nice to use my body for something besides shooting, or running, or ducking behind a crate.” 

“I understand,” Thane says, his voice soft. “That does sound pleasant.” 

“Do you ever dance?” I ask. 

“I...no,” he looks down. “Irikah would have liked me to. I never took the time to learn.” 

“I think you’d be really good at it,” I prod. “You  _ look  _ like you’re dancing when you fight.” 

“That is the only dance I know, siha.” 

“Maybe we _ both  _ need to expand our horizons,” I suggest. 

He gazes up at me, his eyes large and sad. 

I take his hand, and just hold it for awhile without saying anything. 

_________________________

The pain takes me all at once as I return to Life Support, crashing through my left side like a tidal wave, carrying away all coherent thought. I fight back panic as I struggle to draw breath. A crushing sensation grips my chest, which I can only compare with grappling a krogan. Doubling back down the corridor to the medical bay, it is all I can do to keep my feet. Dr. Chakwas looks up from her station as I enter. Her initial roguish smile quickly dissolves into a frown as I sink onto the nearest bio bed. 

“Thane, what’s happened?” she activates her omni-tool and hurries to my side. 

“...can’t...breathe... “ I force the words out. 

Her hands fly. Within instants, she has drawn the curtain, stripped away my robe, secured an oxygen mask over my face, and set an intravenous shunt in my left forearm. She begins a series of rapid scans. 

“Your left lung has collapsed. The lesions have spread -- it’s that damned bacterial infection you picked up last week. According to these scans, you’ve developed resistance to the alburicin…” she darts to a cupboard and rummages, retrieving several vials. “I’m adding a vasodilator to your oxygen feed. I need to vent the trapped oxygen from your chest cavity to help re-inflate your lung -- I’m giving you a local anaesthetic,” her hypoinfuser hisses against my chest, which promptly goes numb. She applies disinfectant, and then drills a long shunt between my ribs. I hear a hissing sound, and the crushing sensation begins to lessen.

“Your lung should re-inflate on its own once the pressure is released. I’m applying intravenous analgesics for the pain, and a sedative to help you sleep -- I want to use the Lazarus nanotechnology to repair the lesions, and it won’t be a pleasant process if you’re conscious. We also need to start you on a new antibiotic series -- I’m going to try the liandrine.” 

“...how...long…” I manage to gasp.

“Shhh, don’t try to speak,” Chakwas rebukes gently. “I suspect you’ll be up and about again in a few hours, but you’re not to go out on point with Shepard for at least two cycles. I want you close by until I’m certain the liandrine has your infection in check.”

I nod my gratitude, closing my eyes and drifting into memory as the sedative begins to take me.  

_ Tightness, fullness in my chest. I stare up at the sky. Vision blurred. Can’t move. Sound of waves crashing against the cliffs nearby, fading. Far away, I feel small, amber-hued fists beating me. Strong, insistent. Her voice firm, reproachful. “Breathe, burn you!” A mouth on mine, sweet, like flowers. Breath forced into my lungs. An explosion of pain, water bursts from my mouth. I cough, gasp for air. Skin prickles, nausea rips at me as sensation floods back.  _

_ “Merciful Kalahira.” A prayer of gratitude. Ember-bright eyes penetrate me. “You  _ **_fool._ ** _ What were you thinking?”  _

_ “...lost my balance...” The words catch, like sand in my throat. _

I had been standing on an outcropping, looking out across the Encompassing. Distracted. Worried about Irikah, how ill-equipped I was to be a husband to her, a father to the tiny being growing inside her. The rocks had shifted below me. Taken off-guard, I failed to  catch myself, and fell into the ocean. Stunned by the impact and the cold, I had aspirated seawater and began to lose consciousness. To my fortune, Irikah had been nearby gathering  _ oroya _ \-- small, edible mollusks -- and heard my shout as I lost my footing. Somehow, she had pulled me to safety. 

_ “Shif’ra muliym,” _ _ she pulls me close, fierce. I cling to her, feeling her body swollen with the life we’ve created together.  _

_ “Forgive me,” I cough. “I was...careless.” _

_ “Arashu give me strength...if I had lost you,” she breathes, her voice breaking. “Don’t you  _ **_ever_ ** _ leave me. Promise me!”  _

_ “Never, siha,” I vow. I press my face to her round abdomen. A burst of soft, insistent kicks beat against my cheek.  _

_ “You see -- he thinks you are a fool, too,” she whispers.  _

_ We hold each other on the rocks. Waves pounding beneath us, salt spray stinging our faces. It begins to rain.  _

_________________________

I linger at my message terminal near the Galaxy Map, reluctant to begin the inevitable confrontation with Jacob. I sigh, checking again for new messages I know aren’t there. 

Kelly Chambers glances over at me with curiosity, lifting her coffee mug to her lips. 

“Trouble, Shepard?” her kind, slanted green eyes twinkle. 

“You could say that,” I offer a weak smile. “Though not the usual kind.” 

“What’s the  _ usual _ kind?” 

“Oh, you know -- shooting, explosions, doomsday invasions, colonies going dark, delusional politicians, rescuing kittens stuck in trees.” 

“Well, a change of pace is always nice,” Kelly grins.

I look toward the armory and swallow hard. “Yeah -- I just hope  _ this _ change of pace doesn’t end up splitting the squad.” 

“Are you planning a new duty roster?” Kelly’s eyebrows knit with confusion. 

“No,” I chuckle. “Well -- you  _ could  _ say that, but it’s not regular duties we’re talking about.” 

Her eyebrows shoot up. “Oh?  _ Special  _ duties, then?” 

I blush in spite of myself, smiling sidelong at her. 

“Anything I can help with?” she asks, her eyelashes lowered.

_ Now that  _ **_would_ ** _ be interesting.  _ My mind wanders for a moment, then I pull it back. 

“I’ll let you know,” I wink. “On a heavier note, I’m about to have a conversation I’m  _ not _ looking forward to with Jacob. Could you keep an eye on him for a bit, make sure there’s no fallout that could jeopardize the mission?” 

Kelly’s expression shifts from playful to serious. “Oh Shepard --  _ that _ kind of change of pace? What happened?” 

I shake my head. “Not here, Kelly. Come see me later, I’ll fill you in...though it’ll be all over the ship in a day or two.” 

“Ugh, now the suspense will be killing me all morning!” 

“I like to keep you on your toes, Yeoman,” I grin at her. 

This time, it’s Kelly’s turn to blush. She looks shyly down at her console. “Good luck, Shepard.” 

I square my shoulders. No more stalling. Time to set things straight. 

I enter the armory at a brisk pace. Jacob is already there, taking an equipment inventory with his omni-tool. His brow is furrowed with concentration.

“Shepard,” he looks up from his task, his face lighting up. “Just the person I wanted to see.” 

My stomach sinks, but I keep my expression steady. “Something to report?” 

“Just got word from Miranda. The Hugo Gernsback crash survivors from Aeia...the Alliance doctors think they’re going to make full recoveries.” 

“Oh...Jacob, that’s great news.” 

“Yeah. It’s a relief to know my dad and the other survivors won’t have to live with severe disabilities on top of what they’ve already been through. They’ve got a long road ahead, but there’s hope at the end of it.” His brown eyes are soft, gentle. “Shepard -- I wanted you to know how much I appreciate what you did down there. For me, and my dad, and all those people.” 

A blade in my chest, my heart gives a painful sideways stab. “It was my pleasure, Jacob,” I say, my voice low.

“I know. You always come through, Shepard. I know I’ve been keeping you at arm’s length, and I’m sorry. It’s not easy for me to trust,” he admits. 

I bite my lip. “Dammit,” I breathe. “Jacob -- stop. Just...before you say more, there’s something you need to know.” 

“What is it?” His voice lowers with concern.

I take a deep breath. “We can’t do this anymore, Jacob. I need to end it.” 

“What?” His eyes widen. “Shepard, what the hell?” 

“I’m sorry,” I look down, my hands gripping the workbench for support. 

“You push me for more, and now you’re backing away? I don’t believe this.” His eyes narrow. “Wait a minute, I know what this is about. It’s  _ him _ , isn’t it?” 

“If you mean Thane,” I level my gaze at him, “Not entirely -- but he  _ is _ part of this.” 

“Son of a bitch. I can’t believe Jack was  _ right.  _ It’s the sad eyes, isn’t it? That brings ‘em in every time. Psychopaths are great at playing sensitive and remorseful. I just can’t believe  _ you _ of all people would be so naïve.”

“ _ Naïve? _ ” Anger flares in my chest. “ _ Brings ‘em in?  _ Like I’m some  _ fish _ he caught?” 

“Aren’t you? You fell for his bait -- hook, line, and sinker.”  

“Thane is not a psychopath, and I didn’t  _ fall _ for anything! I’ve just decided to take what he’s directly offering me. You, on the other hand, have offered  _ nothing. _ ”

“Nothing? Seriously? Shepard, I’ve had your back from the very beginning. Defended you against Miranda’s suspicions, given you my straight opinion, held the line for you…”

“You’re an exceptional soldier. I couldn’t pull off this mission without you. But I expect that from _ everyone _ on this ship, and this isn’t about your performance on the squad. This is personal. I’ve put myself -- my feelings -- on the table for you several times, and every time you’ve pushed me away. Hell, I was starting to feel like I was sexually harassing you.” 

He flinches, turns his eyes away. “I could have offered a lot, Shepard, if you’d been willing to wait for it.” 

“Jacob,” I sigh. “It’s a small ship, so I know damned well you’ve heard the rumours about my ‘tryst’ with Kaidan Alenko.” I feel myself flushing, and clench my teeth with anger. “Well guess what? They  _ aren’t _ true. Because Kaidan wanted to take things slow, to wait until the time was right. And then, on Virmire…” I pause, remembering the urgency in Kaidan’s voice as he’d shouted over the comm, controlled but hoarse with the terrible realization that it  _ had  _ to be him. That the warhead had to be detonated, and he was the only one in position to set the sequence. “Time ran out. Kaidan died. And then... _ I _ died, too. Cerberus may have rebuilt me, but I’m guessing it’s a one-shot deal. Odds are, I’m going to die for  _ good _ when we activate the Omega 4 Relay. I can’t afford to wait around for ‘the right time’ with things like love, and happiness.  _ This  _ moment, right now -- it’s all I have.” 

Jacob continues to look down, shaking his head. “Ahhh Shepard...you sure can put a nice speech together. You almost make me believe I’m  _ not _ just being passed over for a badass who pulls off leather better than I do,” he tries to crack a joke, but his eyes are sad when he looks up at me. “You’re right -- I can’t argue with your reasoning. Though if  _ I _ have anything to say about it, nobody’s doing any dying when we fly through that relay -- you included.” 

I offer a weak, appreciative smile. “Things might be different for you, Jacob. After this is all over, you could settle down somewhere. Start a family, have a quiet, civilian life. The kind that’s worth waiting for,” I close my eyes. “That life can never be mine. As long as the Reapers are out there... _ that’s _ my future.”

“I know,” he says, his voice gruff. “And I’m sorry.” 

I set my jaw. “Don’t be. I’m not.” I reach over and briefly squeeze his hand. “Hey...are we going to be okay?” 

“We...will be, Shepard. I still think you’re crazy, and it might take some time...but I get it.”  

“Okay. Good,” I nod, feeling an odd combination of relief and awkwardness. It’s uncomfortable enough that I feel a surge of gratitude when EDI’s voice cuts in over the intercom.

“Shepard,” EDI greets.

“Good morning, EDI.” 

“Dr. Chakwas needs you down in medical bay.”

“Did she say what it was about?” I query.

“Yes, Shepard, but telling you would reveal private health information regarding a member of the crew. You instructed me not to divulge such information.”

“Yes, I did,” I concede. My brow creases. “I’d better get down there,” I tell Jacob, a bit apologetic.

“Go on,” he gestures. I turn and jog out of the armory to the CIC, where I catch the elevator down to the crew deck. As I pass through the sliding doors of the medical bay, Chakwas emerges from behind a curtained alcove in the far corner of the room. She has  _ that _ look on her face. I feel gooseflesh rising on my arms. 

“Doctor -- report.” 

“Commander, Thane came in about half an hour ago with a serious bacterial infection and a collapsed lung. I’ve managed to get the lung reinflated, and I’ve started analgesics and a new antibiotic series.” 

“How did this happen?” I demand. “I was with him less than an hour ago -- he seemed fine.”

“He picked up the infection during the mission to Pragia. He sought treatment as soon as he noticed the symptoms, but the antibiotic I gave him was ineffective, and the infection damaged his lung.”

_ Dammit, you  _ **_knew_ ** _ having him groundside on Pragia was a terrible idea the minute you stepped out of the Kodiak into that raging downpour...crawling through that festering, abandoned base full of mildew and god-knows-what bacteria...should have ordered him back to the Normandy. But he insisted he would be fine.  _

“Is he awake?” I fight to keep my voice level. 

Dr. Chakwas shakes her head. “He’s under sedation while I use the Cerberus nanotech to repair the damage to his lung.”

“Will he be all right?” I ask. 

“In the short run, he’ll make a full recovery. His body and immune system are remarkably resilient, given the circumstances,” she pauses, looking grim. “Long-term, Shepard, I can’t say. There are only so many antibiotics available, and he’s developed resistance to many of them. He’s refused transplants as a treatment option. The Lazarus nanotech can mitigate against vital organ damage to an extent, but repeated use of the technology causes cellular degradation due to replicative fading . At some point, the cumulative strain on his physiology will begin to overwhelm him, and he won’t be able to bounce back from injury or infection.” 

I close my eyes briefly, then open them again. “How long will he be out of commission this time?” 

“He’ll be unconscious for another hour or so for the reconstruction. He should be back on his feet by about 1200 hours, and if all goes well, I should be able to clear him for active duty in two or three cycles.”  

“I want to see him.” 

Chakwas nods, “Just be careful not to disturb any of the equipment.” 

Steeling myself, I pull back the curtain. Thane is laid out on the bio bed below a scanner, his dark outer eyelids closed, his frills pale and pinkish. 

“Hey Thane,” I say, though I know he can’t hear me. I take his hand. 

Chakwas joins us behind the curtain as I gaze down at him. 

“He told me last night he thinks I’m some kind of angel, doc. He wasn’t flattering me; he meant it  _ literally _ . He believes one of his goddesses -- Arashu -- is working through me.” I laugh a bit shakily. 

“Is that so surprising?” Chakwas asks, checking the readout on the scanner. “You’ve saved a lot of people. It was only a matter of time until someone connected you with some deity or other.” 

“I’m a soldier, not an angel. They didn’t teach us to work miracles in the N7 program - at least, not the kind he needs. How the hell do I fight  _ this?”  _ I gesture helplessly toward Thane.

“If you figure it out, be sure to let me know,” Chakwas gives a short, sad laugh. “I don’t think you can, Shepard. It’s not the sort of war that can be won, at least not in the conventional sense.”  

I swallow, and nod. “I was just telling...someone...that ‘right now’ is all I have. I guess Thane and I have that much in common.” 

“Perhaps that’s all anyone has, Commander. It’s just easier for some of us to forget it.”

_________________________

After an instant, or an eternity, I open my eyes again. She is looking down at me, her face bathed in the amber glow of the medical imaging scanner poised above my torso. I feel her cool, strong hand wrapped tightly around my own.   

“Hey,” her voice caresses my tympanic membranes. 

“...siha…” the word is glass in my mouth. I struggle to raise my head. 

“Shhh...Dr. Chakwas says you should rest for awhile.” 

Letting my head fall back on the pillow, I cling to her hand in silence, trepidation gnawing at my stomach. 

_ Siha...I am unworthy to utter your name, let alone share your bed, or occupy space in your heart. Arashu forgive me... _

_________________________

I keep my vigil at Thane’s bedside as he recuperates from the procedure. Dr. Chakwas strides purposefully about the medical bay, no trace of last night’s excessive alcohol consumption evident in her movements. A muffled voice emanates from across the room, and Chakwas hurries over to investigate. It is David Archer. My breath catches in my throat as the young man struggles to sit up, groggy from heavy sedation. He blinks with difficulty, his dark eyes swollen from contact with the V.I. interface. 

“Square root of 924.16 is 30.4,” David says, eyes darting in our direction. “The green man is sick.” 

“Yes, but he’ll be all right,” Dr. Chakwas assures the young man. 

“He helped me,” David continues, pulling at Thane’s surcoat. “This will do.” 

“Yes,” Chakwas affirms. 

David glances over at Jack, who is curled up on a nearby bio bed. “The painted lady is sick.” 

Chakwas smiles. “No, Jack isn’t sick. She just drank too much ice wine.” 

“Square root of 930.25 is 30.5,” David’s black eyes flit rapidly in my direction, then away again. “Shepard. She stopped the voices. Made it quiet.”   

“Shhh…” Chakwas soothes him. “Try not to move around too much. You’ll disturb the bandages.”

Compliant, David eases back down onto the bio bed, closing his eyes again. As he does, the med bay doors hiss open, and Mordin ambles in, his lined face pinched with displeasure. He joins Chakwas by David’s bio bed, running a series of scans on the young man with his omni-tool. I rise quietly and approach them. 

“He’s recovering well,” Chakwas murmurs to Mordin, who nods. 

“That’s one piece of good news.” I say. 

“Shepard. EDI obtained downloads of Atlas Station research logs. Reviewed earlier today,” Mordin’s face takes on a brief, grave expression. “Disturbing parallel with Maelon, experiments on Tuchanka.” 

“You don’t approve of Archer’s research, Mordin? I’m surprised,” I remark, an edge creeping into my voice.

“Never approve bad science, Shepard. Archer’s research sloppy. Amateurish. Experiment conducted with inadequate safety protocols. Perfunctory, incomplete computer simulations. No trials testing interface with less complex life forms. Sentient subject informed consent violated. Vulnerable non-volunteer with unique neurosensory profile used -- forced! Subject’s savant abilities, threats to research funding  _ not _ sufficient justifications. Barbarous.  _ Unacceptable, _ ” the salarian’s reedy, high-pitched voice is tense with outrage.

“Unacceptable,” David echoes from the bio bed behind us. 

“You’re damned right it was,” I turn and force myself to look at David. “He never should have put you in there,” I swallow hard. 

“Never should have,” he agrees.  

“Do you know where we are now, David?” I ask, uncertain how much the young man has absorbed about his current situation.

“Medical bay, Normandy Stealth-Reconnaissance 2. Cerberus rebuild of Systems Alliance Space Vehicle Normandy Stealth-Reconnaissance 1. Upgraded Tantalus FTL drive, non-military issue Thanix Cannon. Shipboard software suite integrated with artificial intelligence system. EDI.” 

“Hello again, David,” EDI chimes in from a nearby console. 

“EDI is very good,” David says. 

“Good at what?” I ask with some confusion.

“Square root of 936.36 is 30.6,” David wraps his arms around his knees.

“David attempted to upload his consciousness to the Normandy’s computer while your team was groundside on Aite,” EDI explains. “I stopped him.” 

“Sorry,” David appears sad as he addresses EDI’s spectral blue figure. “Normandy was quiet. Only one voice -- yours.” 

“There was no damage to the Normandy or her systems, David. Your apology is unnecessary,” EDI says, her voice convincingly reassuring. 

“Do you know where we’re taking you?” I ask David. 

“Square root of 942.49 is 30.7,” David nods, looking down. “Grissom Academy.”

“That’s right -- but only if you agree. Cerberus knows you can talk to the geth,” I explain. “I’m worried they’ll try to find you -- do something to hurt you again. I don’t want that to happen. EDI did a background check to find the rest of your family, but it looks like Gavin is your only close relative. So I contacted my friend, Senator Anderson. He knows the headmaster of Grissom Academy. Her name is Kahlee Sanders. She’s an excellent officer - and a great teacher. She’ll make sure you’re safe,” I smile. “And -- it’s a school for gifted humans. You’ll have access to any educational or learning resources you like, courtesy of the Systems Alliance.” 

“Square root of 948.64 is 30.8,” David says. He doesn’t meet my gaze, but his voice is emphatic, “Grissom Academy.  _ Not Cerberus. _ ” 

“Okay. Let’s do it,” I affirm, and give David’s shoulder a tentative squeeze. I notice that he’s still wrapped in Thane’s ornate leather surcoat, the armor well-maintained but weathered with the memory of his many battles. 

“Shepard,” David’s eyes dart upward and meet mine for an instant. “Thank you.” 

My teeth punch into my bottom lip to hold it in place, and I nod. “It was an honour, David,” I manage. 

_ You couldn’t get there in time to help Paul. It wasn’t your fault. You’ve always done what you could.  _

_ Sometimes, it’s enough.  _

_________________________

I fix my gaze on the Tantalus core, funnel my focus into the glinting light, into the static arcing along the polished, convex metal. Summoning the full force of the mental discipline I have cultivated through years of effort, I attempt to bring stability and order to my mind, to tame the teeming mass of intrusive thoughts and memories. Instead, they scatter and dart about like startled fish. 

_ “Don’t you  _ **_ever_ ** _ leave me. Promise me!”  _

_ You vowed you would not, shif’ra muliym. You failed her. You can only repeat that failure now.  _

_ “No, Thane,” she reaches out, resting her hand on my neck. “I’m glad you’re here.” _

_ Arashu watches over you still. She will show you the way to Kalahira’s shore. She will lead you back to me.  _

_ I trace a circle around her, a ward against the raging storms that plague her journeys.  _

_ “I finished contemplating last night, the moment I set foot in your quarters,” she admits.  _

I press my forehead into my palms, unable to stem the tide of disturbed thoughts. 

  
_ Now you are a blade waiting against  _ **_her_ ** _ heart, as well.  _


End file.
